THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


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in  2008  with  funding  from 

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ENSLAVED 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

MKW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA  •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON  •    BOMBAY  •    CALCUTTA 
MSLBOURNK 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltd, 

TORONTO 


ENSLAVED 


BY 
JOHN    MASEFIELD 

AUTHOR   OF    *<  REYNARD  THE   FOX" 

"THE  EVERLASTING   MERCY" 

ETC. 


THE   MACMILLAN   COMPANY 
1920 

All  right!  reterved 


Copyright,  1920, 
By  JOHN   MASEFIELD. 

Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Published  June.  1920. 


Norwood  Press 

J.  S.  Gushing  Co.  —  Berwick  &  Smith  Co. 

Norwood.  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


TO 

LEWIS 


203785:1 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Enslaved i 

The  Hounds  of  Hell 53 

Cap  on  Head 8i 

Sonnets 93 

The  Passing  Strange 99 

Animula 105 

The  Lemmings "S 

Forget "9 

On  Growing  Old 123 

Lyric I27 


ENSLAVED 


ALL  early  in  the  April  when  daylight  comes  at  five 
I  went  into  the  garden  most  glad  to  be  alive 
^     The  thrushes  and  the  blackbirds  were  singing  in 
the  thorn 
The  April  flowers  were  singing  for  joy  of  being  born. 


I  smelt  the  dewy  morning  come  blowing  through  the  woods 
Where  all  the  wilding  cherries  do  toss  their  snowy  snoods 
I  thought  of  the  running  water  where  sweet  white  violets 

grow 
I  said,  ''I'll  pick  them  for  her,  because  she  loves  them  so." 


So  in  the  dewy  morning  I  turned  to  cUmb  the  hill 
Beside  the  running  water  whose  tongue  is  never  still, 
O  delicate  green  and  dewy  were  all  the  budding  trees 
The  blue  dog-violets  grew  there  and  many  primroses. 


Out  of  the  wood  I  wandered,  but  paused  upon  the  heath 
To  watch,  beyond  the  tree  tops,  the  wrinkled  sea  beneath 
Its  blueness  and  its  stillness  were  trembhng  as  it  lay 
In  the  old  un-autumned  beauty  that  never  goes  away. 


And  the  beauty  of  the  water  brought  my  love  into  my  mind 
Because  all  sweet  love  is  beauty  and  the  loved  thing  turns 

to  kind 
And  I  thought,  "It  is  a  beauty  spread,  for  setting  of  your 

grace, 
0  white  violet  of  a  woman  with  the  April  in  your  face." 

[3] 


So  I  gathered  the  white  violets  where  young  men  pick  them 

still, 
And  I  turned  to  cross  the  woodland  to  her  house  beneath 

the  hill, 
And  I  thought  of  her  delight  in  the  flowers  that  I  brought 

her, 
Bright  Hke  sunlight,  sweet  Uke  singing,  cool  Hke  running  of 

the  water. 

Now  I  noticed  as  I  crossed  the  wood  towards  my  lady's 

house. 
That  wisps  of  smoke  were  blowing  blue  in  the  young  green 

of  the  boughs : 
But  I  thought,  "They're  burning  weeds,"  and  I  felt  the 

green  and  blue 
To  be  lovely,  so,  together,  while  the  green  was  in  its  dew. 

Then  I  smelt  the  smell  of  burning;  but  I  thought,  "The 

bonfire  takes. 
And  the  tongues  of  flame  are  licking  up  below  the  lifting 

flakes." 
Though  J  I  thought,  "the  fire  must  be  big,  to  raise  a  smoke 

so  thick." 
And  I  wondered  for  a  moment  if  the  fire  were  a  rick. 

But  the  love  that  sang  within  me  made  me  put  the  thought 

away, 
What  do  young  men  care  for  trouble  if  they  see  their  love 

to-day. 
And  my  thought  kept  running  forward  till  it  knelt  before 

my  sweet. 
Laying  thought  and  joy  and  service  in  a  love-gift  at  her  feet. 

[4] 


And  I  thought  of  life  beside  her,  and  of  all  our  days  together, 
Stormy  days,  perhaps,  of  courage,  with  our  faces  to  the 

weather. 
Never  any  days,  but  happy,  so  I  thought,  if  passed  with  her. 
Then  the  smoke  came  blowing  thickly  till  it  made  the  wood 

a  blur. 


Still,  I  did  not  think  of  evil,  for  one  could  not,  living  there. 
But  I  said,  "The  rooks  are  startled,"  for  their  crying  filled 

the  air. 
And  I  wondered,  in  the  meadow,  why  the  cows  were  not  at 

grass, 
Only  smoke,  down-blowing,  bitter,  that  the  birds  were 

loath  to  pass. 


So  I  quickened  through  the  meadow  to  the  close  that  hid 

the  home 
And  the  smoke  drove  down  in  volleys,  lifted  up,  and  wreathed 

and  clomb, 
And  I  could  not  see,  because  of  it,  and  what  one  cannot  see 
Holds  the  fear  that  lives  in  darkness,  so  that  fear  began  in 

me. 


And  the  place  was  like  a  death-house  save  for  cawings  over- 
head. 

All  the  cocks  and  hens  were  silent  and  the  dogs  were  like 
the  dead, 

Nothing  but  the  smoke  seemed  li\ing,  thick,  and  hiding 
whence  it  came. 

Bitter  with  the  change  of  burning,  hot  upon  the  cheek  from 
flame. 

fs] 


Then  my  fear  became  a  terror  and  I  knew  that  ill  had  fallen 
From  the  fate  that  comes  unthought  of  when  the  unheard 

word  is  callen, 
So  I  flung  the  Uttle  gate  astray  and  burst  the  bushes  through 
Little  red-white  blossoms  flecked  me  and  my  face  was  dashed 

with  dew. 

Then  I  saw  what  ill  had  fallen,  for  the  house  had  burned  to 
death, 

Though  it  gleamed  with  running  fire  when  a  falling  gave  a 
breath, 

All  the  roof  was  sky,  the  lead  dripped,  all  the  empty  win- 
dows wide 

Spouted  smoke,  and  all  was  silent,  save  the  volleying  rooks 
that  cried. 

This  I  saw.     I  rocked  with  anguish  at  the  flicking  heap  that 

glowed. 
She  was  dead  among  the  ashes  that  the  lead  drops  did 

corrode. 
She  was  dead,  that  gave  a  meaning  to  the  beauty  of  the 

spring, 
Yet  the  daffodils  still  nodded  and  the  blackbirds  still  did 

sing. 

When  the  stunning  passed,  I  stumbled  to  the  house's  west- 
ward side 

Thinking  there  to  find  some  neighbour  that  could  tell  me 
how  she  died ; 

Fearing,  too,  lest  Death  the  devil  who  had  dealt  such  mur- 
der there 

Should  be  hiding  there  behind  me  for  to  clutch  me  unaware. 

[6] 


There  was  no  one  there  alive,  but  my  leaping  heart  was 

stilled 
By  the  sight  of  bodies  lying  in  the  grass  where  they  were 

killed. 
Drooped  into  the  grass  they  lay  there,  pressing  close  into 

the  ground 
As  the  dead  do,  in  the  grasses ;  all  my  world  went  spinning 

round. 

Then  I  saw,  that  with  the  bodies,  all  the  ground  was  heaped 

and  strown 
With  the  litter  of  a  house  that  had  been  gutted  to  the  bone ; 
SpHt  and  hingeless  coffers  yawning,  Hnen  drooped  like  people 

dead, 
Trinkets  broken  for  their  jewels,  barrels  staved,  and  crusts 

of  bread. 

Then  a  mess  of  feathers  blowing,  then  the  cattle's  heads, 
and  then 

Stunned  at  all  tliis  wreck  I  hurried  to  the  bodies  of  the  men. 

Five  were  workers  of  the  household,  lying  dead  in  her  de- 
fence ; 

Roused  from  sleep,  perhaps,  in  darkness  so  that  death  might 
dash  them  thence. 

But  the  other  three  were  strangers,  swarthy,  bearded,  hook- 
nosed, lean. 

Wearing  white  (for  night  surprisal)  over  seamen's  coats  of 
green; 

Moorish-coloured  men,  still  greedy  for  the  prize  they  died 
to  snatch ; 

Clutching  broken  knives,  or  grass-blades,  or  some  tatters  of 
their  catch. 

l7] 


Then  I  moaned  aloud,  for  then  I  knew  the  truth,  that  these 
Were  the  Moorish  pirate  raiders  who  had  come  there  from 

the  seas, 
Come  upon  my  love  defenceless,  by  surprise,  and  I  not  there. 
Come  to  burn  or  kill  her  beauty  or  to  drag  her  to  their  lair. 


"Dragged  away  to  be  a  slave,"  I  thought.  I  saw  what  she 
had  seen. 

All  the  good  friends  lying  slaughtered  in  the  young  grass 
dewy  green ; 

All  the  cattle  killed  for  provant  and  the  gutted  homestead 
burning, 

And  the  skinny  Moors  to  drag  her  to  the  death  of  no  re- 
turning. 


Minutes  passed,  yet  still  I  stood  there,  when  I  heard  one 

call  my  name, 
Amys,  once  my  darling's  woman,  from  her  hiding-corner 

came, 
"O,"  she  cried,    'They  came  upon  us  when  the  light  was 

growing  gray 
And  they  sacked  and  burned  and  slaughtered,  and  they've 

carried  her  away. 


"I  was  sleeping  in  the  cottage  when  I  heard  the  noise  of 

men, 
And  the  shots ;  and  I  could  see  them,  for  the  house  was 

blazing  then. 
They  were  hke  to  devils,  kilHng,  so  I  hid,  and  then  I  heard 
Rollo  moaning  in  the  bushes  with  a  face  as  white  as  curd. 


"He  was  dying  from  a  bullet,  but  he  said  'Saffee.     Saffee 

Pirates,  Amys ;  they  were  burning  and  they  shot  and  mur- 
dered me. 

Amys,  look  where  I  was  murdered,  look,  they  blew  away  my 
side, 

And  they  burnt  the  cows  in  stable.'  Then  he  moaned  until 
he  died. 


"It  was  terrible  to  hear  them  kill  the  beasts  and  pack  their 

prey. 
Then  they  shouldered  up  their  plunder  and  they  sang  and 

marched  away ; 
And  they  took  my  lady  with  them  as  a  slave-girl  to  be  sold. 
I  saw  them  kill  Paloma,  they  said  that  she  was  old. 


"Then  they  went  on  board  their  cruiser  and  she  sailed  away 

at  once. 
Look  there,  beyond  the  beaches,  you  see  her  where  she  runs 

runs  — " 


I  saw  a  peaked  sail  pointing  and  feathering  oars  that  flasht 
In  the  blueness  of  the  water  that  was  whitened  where  they 
gasht. 


There  they  carried  my  beloved  in  a  pirate  ship  at  sea 
To  be  sold  like  meat  for  kilhng  in  the  markets  of  Saffee. 
Some  fire-shrivelled  oak-leaves  blew  Hghtly  past  my  face, 
A  beam  fell  in  the  ruins,  the  fire  roared  a  space. 

I9J 


I  walked  down  to  the  water,  my  heart  was  torn  in  two 
For  the  anguish  of  her  future  and  the  nothing  I  could  do. 
The  ship  had  leaned  a  little  as  she  snouted  to  the  spray ; 
The  feathering  oars  flashed  steadily  at  taking  her  away. 

I  took  a  fisher's  boat  there  was  and  dragged  her  down  the 

sand, 
I  set  her  sail  and  took  an  oar  and  thrust  her  from  the 

land, 
I  headed  for  the  pirate,  and  the  brown  weed  waved  beneath 
And  the  boat  trod  down  the  bubbles  of  the  bone  between 

her  teeth. 


I  brought  them  down  the  land-wind  so  from  the  first  I 

gained ; 
I  set  a  tiny  topsail  that  bowed  her  till  she  strained. 
My  mind  was  with  my  darhng  aboard  that  ship  of  fear 
In  cabin  close  with  curtains  where  Moormen  watched  my 

dear. 


Now  when  they  saw  me  coming  they  wondered  what  it 

meant, 
This  young  man  in  a  fish-boat  who  followed  where  they 

went. 
They  judged  that  I  was  coming  to  buy  the  woman  free ; 
So  suddenly  the  oars  stopped,  they  waited  on  the  sea. 

I  dropped  my  sail  close  to  them  and  ranged  to  easy  hail, 
Her  plunges  shivered  wrinklings  along  her  spilling  sail, 
The  water  running  by  her  had  made  her  shine  like  gold. 
The  oar  blades  poised  in  order  kissed  water  when  she  rolled. 

[lo] 


A  hundred  naked  rowers  stared  down  their  oars  at  me 
With  all  the  bitter  hatred  the  slave  has  for  the  free. 
The  boatswain  walked  above  them,  he  mocked  me,  so  did 

they: 
The  sun  had  burnt  their  bodies  and  yet  their  look  was 

gray. 


So  there  we  rocked  together,  while  she,  at  every  roll, 
Moaned  from  her  guns  with  creakings  that  shook  her  to 

the  soul ; 
I  did  not  see  my  darling ;  she  lay  in  ward  below 
Down  in  the  green  hung  cabin  she  first  joined  hands  with 

woe. 


The  galley  plowtered,  troubHng;  the  mockings  of  the 
slaves 

Passed  from  bench  to  bench,  like  bird's  cries,  her  bow-beak 
slapt  the  waves, 

Then  her  captain  came  on  deck,  quick  and  hard,  with  snap- 
ping force. 

And  a  kind  of  cringe  of  terror  stiffened  down  those  banks 
of  oars. 


The  captain  walked  the  deck ;  he  eyed  me  for  a  moment, 

He  called  some  Turkish  words  with  a  muttered  added  com- 
ment, 

Then  he  called,  ''Well.  What  d'ye  want?"  in  the  lingua 
of  the  sea. 

The  boatswain  leaned  and  spoke,  then  they  sneered  and 
looked  at  me. 

[II] 


So  I  stood  upon  the  thwart,  and  I  called,  "  I  want  to  come 
To  be  comrade  to  the  woman  whom  you've  dragged  away 

from  home. 
Since  I  cannot  set  her  free,  I  want  only  to  be  near  her." 
*'Ah,"  he  said,  "Men  buy  love  dear,  but  by  God  you  buy 

it  dearer. 

"Well;  you  shall;"  he  spoke  in  Moorish  and  a  seaman 

tossed  a  cord, 
So  I  hove  myself  alongside,  scrambled  up  and  climbed 

aboard. 
All  were  silent,  but  they  watched  me ;  all  those  eyes  above 

the  oars 
Stared,  and  all  their  bitter  tushes  gnashed  beneath  them  like 

a  boar's ! 

At  an  order,  all  the  oars  clanked  aft,  and  checked,  and 

sliced  the  sea, 
The  rowers'  lips  twitched  upward,  the  sheets  tugged  to  be 

free. 
The  wrinklings  in  the  sail  ran  up  as  it  rounded  to  a  breast, 
The  ship  bowed  to  a  billow  and  snouted  through  the  crest. 

My  boat  was  tossed  behind  us,  she  bowed  and  swung  away. 
The  captain  stood  and  mocked  me,  "Well,  since  you  would, 

you  may. 
You  shall  be  near  your  lady,  until  we  fetch  to  port." 
They  chained  me  to  the  oar-loom  upon  the  after-thwart. 

All  day,  until  the  twilight,  I  swung  upon  the  oar ; 
Above  the  dropping  taffrail  I  sometimes  saw  the  shore, 
Behind  me  swung  the  rowers,  again  and  yet  again 
A  gasp,  a  clank  of  rollocks  and  then  a  cry  of  pain. 

[I2l 


The  boatswain  walked  above  us  to  lash  us  if  we  slackened  •, 
With  blood  of  many  beatings  the  rowers'  backs  were  black- 
ened, 
Again  and  yet  again  came  the  lash  and  then  the  cry, 
Then  a  mutter  for  revenge  would  run  round  the  ship  and  die. 

But  twilight  with  her  planet  that  brings  quiet  to  the  tired, 
Bringing  dusk  upon  the  water  brought  the  gift  that  I  desired 
For  they  brought  my  well-beloved  to  the  deck  to  breathe 

the  air, 
Not  a  half  an  oar's  length  from  me,  so  we  spoke  together 

there. 

"You,"  she  said ;  "Yes,  I,  beloved,  to  be  near  you  over  sea, 
I  have  come  to  be  beside  you  and  to  help  to  set  you  free. 
Keep  your  courage  and  be  certain  that  the  God  who  took 

will  give. 
God  will  dawn  and  we  shall  prosper  for  the  living  soul  will 

live." 

Then  they  bade  me  stop  my  talking  and  to  use  my  breath 

to  row. 
Darkness  came  upon  the  water  and  they  took  my  love  below. 
Fire  in  the  oar-stirred  water  swirled  in  streaks  that  raced 

away ; 
Toppling  up  and  down  the  taffrail  touched  the  red  sky  and 

the  gray. 

Then  the  wind  began  to  freshen  till  the  shrouds  were  twang- 
ing sharp, 
Thrilling  an  unchanging  honing  like  a  madman  with  a  harp. 
Thrilling  on  a  rising  water  that  was  hissing  as  it  rose 
To  be  foamed  asunder  by  us  as  we  struck  it  down  with  blows. 

[i3l 


Soon  we  could  not  row,  but  rested  with  the  oar  blades 

triced  above, 
Then  my  soul  went  from  my  body  to  give  comfort  to  my 

love. 
Though  indeed  the  only  comfort  that  my  mind  could  find 

to  say 
Was,  that  God,  who  makes  to-morrow  makes  it  better  than 

to-day. 

So  I  yearned  towards  my  darling  while  I  drooped  upon  my 

bench. 
All  the  galley's  length  was  shaken  when  the  mainsail  gave 

a  wrench ; 
Always  when  I  roused,  the  taffrail  toppled  up  to  touch  the 

stars, 
And  the  roaring  seas  ran  hissing,  and  the  planks  whined, 

and  the  spars. 


Day  by  day  I  rowed  the  galley,  night  by  night  I  saw  the 

Pole 
Sinking  lower  in  the  northward  to  the  sorrow  of  my  soul, 
Yet  at  night  I  saw  my  darHng  when  she  came  on  deck  to 

walk, 
And  our  thoughts  passt  to  each  other  though  they  would 

not  let  us  talk. 


Till  early  on  a  morning  before  the  dawn  had  come 

Some  foreign  birds  came  crying  with  strong  wings  wagging 

home. 
Then  on  the  wind  a  warmness,  a  sweetness  as  of  cloves, 
Blew  faintly  in  the  darkness  from  spice  and  orange  groves. 

[14] 


Then,  as  they  set  us  rowing,  the  sun  rose  over  land 
That  seemed  a  mist  of  forest  above  a  gleam  of  sand. 
White  houses  glittered  on  it,  the  pirates  cheered  to  see. 
By  noon  we  reached  the  haven,  we  anchored  in  SafEee. 

They  cloaked  my  well-beloved  and  carried  her  ashore 
She  slipped  a  paper  to  me  while  brushing  past  my  oar. 
I  took  it,  muttering  "Courage";  I  read  it  when  I  dared: 
"They  mean  me  for  the  Khalif.     I  have  to  be  prepared." 

They  led  her  up  the  jetty,  she  passed  out  of  my  sight. 
Then  they  knocked  away  our  irons  and  worked  us  till  the 

night, 
Unbending  sails,  unstepping  masts,  clean-scraping  banks, 

unshipping  oars 
Rousing  casks  and  loot  and  cables  from  the  orlop  into  stores. 

When  all  the  gear  was  warehoused,  they  marched  us  up 

the  street, 
All  sand  it  was,  where  dogs  lay,  that  sprang  and  snapped 

our  feet. 
Then  lancers  came  at  gallop,  they  knocked  us  to  the  side. 
They  struck  us  with  their  lance-staves  to  make  them  room 

to  ride. 


Then,  as  we  cleared  the  roadway,  with  clatter,  riding 
hard. 

With  foam  flung  from  the  bit-cups,  there  came  the  body- 
guard. 

Then  splendid  in  his  scarlet  the  Khalif's  self  went  by 

A  grand  young  bird  of  rapine  with  a  hawk-look  in  his  eye. 

[is] 


A  slave  said,  "There's  the  Khalif.     He's  riding  north  to- 
night, 
To  Marrakesh,  the  vineyard,  his  garden  of  delight. 
That  means  a  night  of  quiet  to  us  poor  dogs  who  row, 
The  guards  will  take  their  pleasure  and  we  shall  rest  below." 


Then,  in  the  dusk,  they  marched  us  to  the  quarries  of  the 
slaves 

Which  were  dripping  shafts  in  hmestone  giving  passage 
into  caves. 

There  they  left  us  with  our  rations  to  the  night  that  pri- 
soners know 

Longing  after  what  was  happy  far  away  and  long  ago. 


Now  often,  as  I  rowed  upon  the  bench. 
In  tugging  back  the  oar-loom  in  the  stroke, 
A  rower  opposite  whose  face  was  French 
Had  signalled  to  me,  with  a  cheer  or  joke. 
Grinning  askant,  and  tossing  back  his  hair 
To  shew  his  white,  keen  features  debonair. 


And  now  that  I  was  sitting  on  the  stone. 
He  came  to  where  I  sat,  and  sat  beside. 
"So,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  eat  your  heart  alone. 
I  did,  at  first ;  but  prison  kills  the  pride. 
It  kills  the  heart,  and  all  it  has  to  give 
Is,  hatred,  daunted  by  the  will  to  Hve. 

[i61 


"  I  was  a  courtier  in  the  French  King's  court 

Three  years  ago ;  you  would  not  think  it  now, 

To  see  me  rower  in  a  pirate  port 

Rusting  my  chain  with  sweatings  from  my  brow. 

But  I  was  once  Duhamel,  over  sea, 

And  should  be  still,  if  they  would  ransom  me. 

"  I  honour  you  for  coming  as  you  did 
To  save  your  lady.     It  was  nobly  done. 
They  took  her  for  the  Khahf ;  she  is  hid 
There  in  the  woman's  palace ;  but,  my  son, 
You  will  not  look  upon  her  face  again. 
Best  face  the  fact,  whatever  be  the  pain. 

"  No,  do  not  speak,  for  she  is  lost  forever, 
Hidden  in  that  dark  palace  of  the  King. 
Not  all  the  loving  in  the  world  would  ever 
Bring  word  to  her,  or  help,  or  anything. 
She  will  be  pasture  to  the  King's  desires. 
Then  sold,  or  given  in  barter,  when  he  tires. 

"  A  woman  in  the  Khalif's  house  is  dead 
To  all  the  world  forever ;  that  is  truth : 
And  you  (most  gallantly)  have  put  your  head 
Into  the  trap.     Till  you  have  done  with  youth, 
You  will  be  slave,  in  prison  or  at  sea. 
Sickness  or  death  alone  will  set  you  free." 

"Surely,"  I  said,  "since  people  have  escaped 
From  worser  hells  than  this,  I,  too,  might  try. 
Fate,  that  is  given  to  all  men  partly  shaped, 
Is  man's,  to  alter  daily  till  he  die. 
I  mean  to  try  to  save  her.     Things  which  men 
Mean  with  their  might,  succeed,  as  this  will  then." 

c  [17] 


I  saw  him  look  about  him  with  alarm. 
"0,  not  so  loud,"  he  said,  ''for  there  are  spies." 
His  look  of  tension  passed,  he  caught  my  arm, 
''I  think  none  heard,"  he  said,  '^  but  oh  be  wise 
Slaves  have  been  ganched  upon  the  hooks  for  less. 
This  place  has  devilries  men  cannot  guess. 

"  But  no  man,  ever,  has  escaped  from  here. 
To  talk  of  it  is  death ;  your  friend  and  you 
Are  slaves  for  Hfe,  and  after  many  a  year, 
(At  best)  when  you  are  both  too  old  to  do 
The  work  of  slaves,  you  may  be  flung  abroad, 
To  beg  for  broken  victuals  in  the  road." 

I  saw  that  what  he  said  was  certainty. 

I  knew  it,  even  then,  but  answered,  '^Well. 

I  will  at  least  be  near  her  till  I  die, 

And  Life  is  change,  and  no  man  can  foretell. 

Even  if  thirty  years  hence  we  may  meet 

It  is  worth  while,  and  prison  shall  be  sweet." 

He  looked  at  me  with  pleasure,  then  he  sighed 
And  said,  "Well,  you  deserve  her."     Then  he  stared 
Across  the  quarry,  trying  to  decide 
If  I  were  fit  to  see  his  spirit  bared. 
Quick  glances  of  suspicion  and  distrust 
Searched  at  my  face,  and  then  he  said,  "I  must. 

"  I  must  not  doubt  you,  lad,  so  listen  now. 

I  have  a  plan,  myself,  for  leaving  this. 

I  meant  to  try  to-night ;  I  '11  shew  you  how 

To  save  your  lady.     And  to-night  there  is 

Hope,  for  the  Khahf  sleeps  at  Marrakesh. 

When  knots  are  loosened  fish  can  burst  the  mesh." 

[i8] 


So  eagerly  I  plighted  faith  to  try 

That  very  night  to  help  him.     "  If  we  fail " 

He  said,  "It  will  be  Fate,  who  flings  the  die 

Against  which  nothing  mortal  can  avail. 

But  we  are  desperate  men  whose  throws  succeed. 

Being  one  with  Fate,  or  Change  from  Passionate  Need." 

So  we  agreed,  that  when  the  cave  was  still, 
We  would  attempt,  and  having  broken  prison, 
Would  raid  the  women's  palace  on  the  hill, 
And  save  my  lady  ere  the  sun  was  risen, 
Then  put  to  sea  towards  some  hiding-place 
North,  in  the  shoals,  where  galleys  could  not  chase. 

Even  as  we  made  an  end,  another  slave, 

(They  called  him  EngHsh  Gerard)  joined  us  there. 

Often,  upon  the  toppUng  of  a  wave 

I'd  seen  him  rowing  and  had  heard  him  swear. 

Forceful  he  was,  with  promise  in  his  eye 

Of  rough  capacity  and  Hberty. 

"Still  talking  of  escape,  I'll  bet  a  crown," 

He  said  to  me ;  "But  you  are  young,  my  friend, 

We  oldsters  know  we  cannot  leave  the  town, 

We  shall  be  here  until  the  bitter  end. 

Give  up  the  hope,  lad,  better  let  it  be, 

No  slave  has  ever  broken  from  Saffee. 

"  Inland,  there's  desert,  westward  there's  the  sea. 

Northward  the  Moorish  towns,  and  in  the  south 

Swamps  and  the  forest  to  eternity. 

The  young  colt  jibs  at  iron  in  his  mouth 

But  has  to  take  it,  and  the  fact  for  us 

Is,  that  we're  slaves,  and  have  to  linger  thus." 

[19] 


"Just  what  I  told  him,"  said  Duhamel,  "Just, 
My  very  words.     It's  bitter  but  the  truth. 
We  shall  be  slaves  until  we  turn  to  dust 
Your  lady,  too,  until  she  loses  youth. 
Put  hope  aside,  and  make  what  life  you  can 
Being  a  slave,  for  slave  you  are,  young  man." 

"Perhaps,"  said  Gerard,  "you  were  told  what  comes 

Of  trjdng  to  escape,  for  men  have  tried. 

They  only  added  to  their  martyrdoms. 

Two  got  away  at  Christmas,  but  they  died. 

The  one  they  skinned  and  stuffed,  the  other  hangs 

Still,  near  the  gate,  upon  the  ganches'  fangs." 

"How  were  they  caught,"  I  asked.    "They  were  betrayed," 
Said  Gerard.     "How?    By  whom?     I  cannot  tell. 
They  trusted  someone  with  the  plans  thay  made 
And  he  betrayed  them,  like  a  fiend  from  hell. 
How  do  I  know  it?    Well.     They  left  no  trace, 
And  yet  the  lancers  knew  their  hiding  place. 

"They  went  straight  to  it,  straight,  and  caught  them  there 

As  soon  as  daylight  came,  when  they  had  gone. 

(As  you'll  be  taken  if  you  don't  beware) 

They  keep  great  hooks  to  hang  the  bodies  on 

Of  those  who  run  away,  or  try,  for  none 

Succeeds,  nor  can,  so  you  be  warned,  my  son." 

He  nodded  to  me,  gripped  my  arm,  and  went 
Back  to  his  place,  the  other  side  the  cave. 
"That  was  a  spy,"  Duhamel  whispered,  "sent 
To  test  your  spirit  as  a  new-come  slave. 
I  know  the  man,  and  if  report  speaks  true 
He  helped  in  that  betrayal  of  the  two. 

l2o] 


"  Now  seem  to  sleep  and  when  the  cave  is  quiet 
We  two  will  try ;  they  say  God  helps  the  mad. 
To  be  a  slave  to  Moors  is  bitter  diet 
That  poisons  men ;  two  bitter  years  I've  had 
But  before  dawn  we  two  will  end  it,  lad. 
Now  seem  to  sleep." 

I  cuddled  to  the  stone ; 
Yet  Gerard's  voice  seemed  calling  to  my  bone. 

And  opening  my  eyes,  I  saw  him  there 
Looking  intently  at  me,  and  he  shook 
His  head  at  me,  as  though  to  say  ''  Beware", 
And  frowned  a  passionate  warning  in  a  look. 
A  wind-flaw,  blowing  through  the  window,  took 
The  flame  within  the  lantern,  that  it  shed 
Bright  light  on  him.     Again  he  shook  his  head. 

The  wind  blowing  in  from  the  sea  made  the  flame  like  a 
plume ; 

The  slaves,  huddled  close,  cursed  in  whispers,  with  chatter- 
ing teeth, 

The  wolves  of  their  spirits  came  stealthy  to  snarl  in  the 
gloom 

Over  bones  of  their  pleasures  long-perished :  the  sea  moaned 
beneath. 

And  my  heart  glowed  with  joy  that  that  night  I  might  rescue 

my  love. 
Glowed  with  joy  in  Duhamel  whose  cunning  would  conquer 

the  guards. 
The  wind  blew  in  fresher ;  a  sentry  went  shuflfling  above, 
Some  gamblers  crouched  tense,  while  a  lean  hand  flickered 

the  cards. 

[21] 


Then  one  by  one  the  gamblers  left  their  game 
The  shadows  shaken  by  the  blowing  flame 
Winked  on  the  wall  until  the  lamp  blew  out. 
Wrapping  his  ankle  irons  in  a  clout 
(To  save  his  skin)  each  branded  slave  prepared 
To  take  his  sleep  his  only  comfort  spared. 


A  kind  of  clearness  blowing  from  the  night 

Made  sleepers'  faces  bonelike  with  its  hght. 

A  sleeper  moaning,  twisted  with  his  shoulder 

Close  to  the  Hmestone  as  the  wind  grew  colder. 

Trickles  of  water  gHstened  down  and  splashed 

Pools  on  the  limestone  into  rings  that  flashed. 

Often  a  stirring  sleeper  struck  the  bell 

Of  chain-Hnks  upon  stones.     Deep  breathing  fell 

Like  sighing,  out  of  all  that  misery 

Of  vermined  men  who  dreamed  of  being  free. 

Heavily  on  the  beaches  fell  the  sea. 


Then,  as  the  tide  came  in,  the  waters  seething 

Under  the  quarries,  mingled  with  the  breathing. 

Until  the  prison  in  the  rock  y-hewen 

Seemed  like  a  ship  that  trod  the  water's  ruin 

Trampling  the  toppling  sea,  while  water  creeping 

Splashed  from  the  seams  in  darkness  on  men  sleeping. 

Far  in  the  city  all  the  dogs  were  howHng 

At  that  white  bird  the  moon  in  heaven  owling. 

Out  in  the  guardhouse  soldiers  made  a  dither 

About  the  wiry  titter  of  a  zither 

Their  long-drawn  songs  were  timed  with  clapping  hands. 

[22] 


The  water  hissed  its  Ufe  out  on  the  sands. 

The  wheel  of  heaven  with  all  her  glittering  turned 

The  city  window-Hghts  no  longer  burned. 

Then  one  by  one  the  soldiers  left  their  clatter 

The  moon  arose  and  walked  upon  the  water 

The  sleepers  turned  to  screen  her  from  their  eyes. 

A  fishing  boat  sailed  past ;  the  fishers'  cries 

Rang  in  the  darkness  of  the  bay  without. 

Her  sail  flapped  as  she  creaked  and  stood  about, 

Then  eased,  then  leaned,  then  strained  and  stood  away. 

Deep  silence  followed,  save  where  breathers  lay. 


So,  lying  there,  with  all  my  being  tense 
Prepared  to  strike,  to  take  my  lady  thence, 
A  prompting  bade  me,  not  to  trust  too  far 
This  man  Duhamel  as  a  guiding  star. 
Some  little  thing  in  him  had  jarred  on  me 
A  touch  (the  flesh  being  raw)  hurts  cruelly. 
And  something  in  liis  speech  or  in  his  bearing 
Made  me  mistrust  his  steadiness  in  daring 
Or  his  endurance,  or  his  faith  to  us. 
Some  smile  or  word  made  me  distrustful  thus. 
Who  knows  the  hidden  things  within  our  being 
That  prompt  our  brain  to  safety  without  seeing, 
Hear  the  unheard  and  save  us  without  sense  ? 
What  fingers  touch  our  strings  when  we  are  tense  ? 


n 


Even  at  that  point,  Duhamel  crept  to  me, 
And  whispered,  "Come,  by  morning  we'll  be  free. 
Creep  down  the  passage  there  towards  the  entry, 
See  what  the  guards  do  while  I  time  the  sentry. 
I  think  that  all  the  guards  are  sleeping  sound 
But,  there's  his  foot,  one  sentry  goes  his  round. 
And  I  must  time  him  till  I  know  his  beat." 
Loitering  upon  the  rampart  came  the  feet 
Of  some  loose-sHppered  soldier.     I  could  hear 
Him  halt,  humming  a  tune,  grounding  his  spear. 


I  listened,  while  Duhamel  urged  me  on. 
"Hurry,"  he  said,  "the  night  will  soon  be  gone; 
Watch  from  the  passage  what  the  guards  are  doing ; 
I'll  time  the  sentry.     There'll  be  no  pursuing 
If  we  can  pass  the  guards  with  him  away. 
Beyond  the  bend  he  cannot  see  the  bay," 


"No,"  I  replied,  "yet  even  if  the  guard 
Be  all  asleep,  it  cannot  but  be  hard 
For  us  to  pick  the  lock  of  that  steel  grille 
Without  their  waking.     We  cannot  be  still 
Crouched  in  the  puddle,  scraping  at  the  lock. 
The  guards  will  wake  and  kill  us  at  a  knock." 


"Hush,"  said  Duhamel,  "Let  me  whisper  close. 
I  did  not  dare  before  for  fear  of  those, 
(The  rowers  and  the  spies) ,  I  have  a  key 
That  will  unlock  the  grating  silently. 
Making  no  noise  at  all  in  catch  or  ward. 
Now  creep  along  and  spy  upon  the  guard." 

[24] 


"A  key?"  said  I.     My  first  suspicions  died. 
*'Yes,"  said  the  man,  "I  slipped  it  from  his  side, 
While  he  was  checking  us  this  afternoon. 
Courage,  my  son,  she'll  be  in  safety  soon." 
He  shewed  a  key,  and  urged  me  to  be  gone 
Down  the  gaunt  gashway  carven  in  the  stone, 
A  darkness  in  the  else  half-gHmmering  lime. 
Where  drops,  each  minute  splashing,  told  the  time. 
There,  in  the  darkness  somewhere,  lay  the  gate 
Where  courage  and  the  moment  might  make  Fate. 


I  rose,  half-doubting,  upon  hands  and  knees ; 
The  blood  within  my  temples  sang  like  bees ; 
I  heard  my  heart.     I  saw  Duhamel's  face, 
Dark  eyes  in  focus  in  a  whitish  space. 
Watching  me  close.     I  doubted,  even  then. 
Then  with  the  impulse  which  transfigures  men, 
Doubt,  hesitation,  terror  passed.     I  crawled 
Into  the  dripping  tunnel  limestone- walled. 


A  cold  drop  spattered  on  my  neck ;  the  wet 
Struck  chilly  where  my  hands  and  knees  were  set. 
I  crawled  into  a  darkness  like  a  vault 
Glimmering  and  sweating  like  a  rock  of  salt. 


I  crept  most  thief-like  till  the  passage  turned. 
There,  in  a  barred  greyness,  I  discerned 
The  world  without,  shut  from  me  by  the  grille. 
I  stopped,  most  thief-like,  listening. 

[25] 


All  was  still ; 
The  quarry  I  had  left  was  still  as  stone. 
The  melancholy  water-drip  alone 
Broke  silence  near  me,  and  ahead  the  night 
Was  silent  in  the  beauty  of  its  Kght, 
Across  which  fell  the  black  of  prison  bars. 

I  crawled  ten  paces  more  and  saw  the  stars 
Above  the  guard-hut  in  the  quarry  pit : 
The  hut  was  still,  it  had  no  lantern  lit. 
I  crawled  again  with  every  nerve  intent. 

The  cleanly  sea-wind  bringing  pleasant  scent 
Blew  through  the  grille  with  Uttle  specks  of  sand. 
Each  second  I  expected  the  word  "Stand." 
That,  or  a  shot,  but  still,  no  challenge  came. 
The  twilight  of  the  moon's  unearthly  flame 
Burned  steadily ;  the  palm-leaves  on  the  hut 
Rustled  in  gusts,  the  crazy  door  was  shut. 
The  guards  were  either  sleeping  or  not  there. 

I  peered  out  through  the  grille  and  drank  the  air 
For  any  scent  that  might  betray  a  guard 
Hidden  in  ambush  near  me  keeping  ward ; 
But  no  scent,  save  the  cleanness  of  the  sea, 
Blew  on  the  night  wind  blowing  in  on  me. 
There  was  no  trace  of  man. 


I  watched  and  listened 
The  water  dropped,  the  trickling  passage  glistened, 
The  coldness  of  the  iron  pressed  my  brow, 

[26] 


Then,  as  I  listened,  (I  can  hear  it  now), 

A  strangled  cry  such  as  a  dreamer  cries 

When  the  dream  binds  him  that  he  cannot  rise. 

Gurgled  behind  me  in  the  sleepers'  cave. 

A  failing  hand  that  struggled  with  the  grave 

Beat  on  the  floor,  then  fluttered,  then  relaxed. 

Limp  as  an  altar  ox  a  priest  has  axed. 

No  need  to  say  that  someone  had  been  killed 

That  was  no  dream. 


Yet  all  the  cave  was  stilled. 
Nobody  spoke,  or  called,  or  ran  to  aid. 
The  fingers  of  the  palm  leaves  ticked  and  played 
On  the  hut-roof,  but  yet  no  guard  appeared. 
I  started  to  crawl  back,  because  I  feared. 
I  knew  that  someone  must  have  heard  that  calling 
Of  the  killed  blood  upon  the  midnight  falling. 
"I  shall  be  judged  the  killer,"  so  I  thought. 

So  crawling  swiftly  back  like  one  distraught, 
I  groped  that  tunnel  where  the  blackness  made 
Me  feel  each  inch  before  my  hand  was  laid. 
There  was  no  gleam,  save  wetness  on  the  wall. 
No  noise  but  heart  beat  or  the  dropping's  fall. 
Blackness  and  silence  tense  with  murder  done, 
Tense  with  a  soul  that  had  not  yet  begun 
To  know  the  world  without  the  help  of  clay. 
I  was  in  terror  in  that  inky  way. 

Then  suddenly,  while  stretching  out  my  hand 
The  terror  brought  my  heart's  blood  to  a  stand. 
I  touched  a  man. 


[27] 


His  face  was  turned  to  me. 
He  whispered,  "To  the  grille.     I  have  the  key." 
So,  without  speech  I  turned ;  he  followed  after. 
I  trembled  at  the  droppings  from  the  rafter. 
Each  noise  without  seemed  footsteps  in  pursuit. 
The  palm-leaves  fluttered  like  a  running  foot. 
The  moonlight  held  her  lantern  to  betray  us. 
A  stricken  stone  was  as  a  sword  to  slay  us. 
Then  at  the  grille  we  paused  that  I  could  see 
That  it  was  not  Duhamel  there  with  me 
But  English  Gerard. 


"Do  not  speak,"  he  said; 
"  Don't  think  about  Duhamel ;  he  is  dead. 
This  key,  that  should  unlock,  is  sticking :  try." 
With  shaking  hands  I  took  the  clicket,  I. 
A  lean  cogged  bolt  of  iron  jangled  bright 
By  shaking  in  the  key-ring,  day  and  night ; 
It  stuck  in  the  knobbed  latch  and  would  not  lift. 


All  kinds  of  terror  urged  me  to  be  swift, 
Fear  of  the  guards  and  of  the  darkness  dying, 
And  of  Duhamel's  body  mutely  cr5dng 
The  thin  red  cry  of  murdered  blood  and  bone 
Piping  in  darkness  to  make  murder  known. 
But  there  the  clicket  jammed  the  iron  socket 
Nor  could  my  hand  withdraw  it  or  unlock  it. 
"Let  me,"  said  Gerard;  then  with  guile  and  skill 
He  coaxed  the  knobbed  iron  from  the  grille 
"It  does  not  fit,"  he  muttered;  "after  all." 

[28] 


Outside,  within  his  roost,  a  cock  did  call 
His  warning  to  the  ghosts,  and  slept  again, 
The  stars  that  glittered  in  the  sky  Uke  grain 
Seemed  paler,  and  the  ticking  time  sped  on 
To  the  guard's  waking  and  the  darkness  gone 
With  nothing  done. 


Then  Gerard  turned  to  me 
"Though  this  is  wrong,  Duhamel  had  the  key, 
And  has  it  still  about  him  as  I  guess 
Tied  to  his  flesh  or  hidden  in  his  dress. 
Wait  here,  while  I  go  rummage  through  his  clothes." 


A  sleeper,  tossing,  jabbered  broken  oaths 
Then  slept,  while  Gerard  crawled. 

I  was  alone 
Afraid  no  more,  but  anxious  to  the  bpne. 


And  looking  out  I  saw  a  sentry  come 
Slowly  towards  the  grille.     I  cowered  numb 
Back  into  blackness  pressed  against  the  wall. 
I  heard  the  measure  of  his  footsteps  fall 
Along  the  quarry  to  me.     I  could  see 
The  tenseness  of  his  eyes  turned  full  on  me 
I  felt  that  he  must  see  me  and  give  speech. 

[29] 


His  hand,  that  shook  the  grille,  was  in  my  reach. 
He  peered  within  to  see  if  all  were  well. 
Wept  as  though  spat  a  drop  of  water  fell. 
He  peered  into  the  blackness  where  I  stood. 
Then,  having  tried  the  lock,  he  tossed  his  hood, 
Crouched  at  the  grille  and  struck  a  light,  and  lit 
Tinder,  and  blew  the  glowing  end  of  it 
Till  all  his  face  was  fierce  in  the  strong  glow ; 
He  sucked  the  rank  tobacco  lighted  so, 
And  stood  a  moment  blowing  bitter  smoke. 
I  hardly  dared  to  breathe  lest  I  should  choke. 
I  longed  to  move,  but  dared  not.     Had  I  stirred 
Even  a  finger's  breadth,  he  must  have  heard. 
He  must  have  touched  me  had  he  thrust  his  hand 
Within  the  grille  to  touch  the  wall  he  scanned. 

Then,  slowly,  muttering  to  himself,  he  took 
Three  steps  away,  then  turned  for  one  more  look 
Straight  at  the  grille  and  me.     I  counted  ten. 
Something  within  the  passage  moved  him  then 
Because  he  leaned  and  peered  as  though  unsure. 
Then,  stepping  to  the  grille-work's  embrasure, 
He  thrust  his  face  against  the  iron  grid. 
And  stared  into  the  blackness  where  I  hid, 
And  softly  breathed,  *'Duhamel. " 

As  he  spoke 
A  passing  cloud  put  dimness  as  of  smoke 
Over  the  moon's  face.     No-one  answered  him, 
A  drip-drop  spat  its  wetness  in  the  dim. 
He  paused  to  call  again,  then  turned  away. 
He  wandered  slowly  up  the  quarry  way 
But  at  the  bend  he  stopped  to  rest  his  bones. 

[30] 


He  sat  upon  the  bank  and  juggled  stones 

For  long  long  minutes.     Gerard  joined  me  there 

We  watched  the  sentry  tossing  stones  in  air 

To  catch  them  on  his  hand's  back  as  they  fell. 

We  wished  him  in  the  bottom  pit  of  hell. 

At  last  he  rose  and  sauntered  round  the  bend. 

The  falling  of  his  footsteps  had  an  end 

At  last,  and  Gerard  spoke,  "I  have  the  key." 


The  cogs  caught  in  the  locket  cKcldly, 

The  catch  fell  back,  the  heavy  iron  gave. 

We  pushed  the  grille  and  stept  out  of  the  grave 

Into  the  moonlight  where  the  wind  was  blowing. 

"Hurry,"  I  whispered,  for  the  cocks  were  crowing 

In  unseen  roosts,  the  morning  being  near. 

We  cHmbed  the  bank. 

''This  way,"  said  Gerard,  "here. 


Now,  down  the  slope.     We  dodge  the  sentry  so. 
Now  through  the  water  where  the  withies  grow. 
Now  we  are  out  of  sight ;  now  we  can  talk." 
We  changed  our  crouching  running  to  a  walk. 


He  led  me  up  a  slope  where  rats  carousing 

Squealed  or  showed  teeth  among  the  tumbled  housing, 

Half  ruined  wooden  huts,  or  Hme-washed  clay. 

We  turned  from  this  into  a  trodden  way 

Pale  in  the  moonlight,  where  the  dogs  that  prowled 

Snarled  as  we  passed,  then  eyed  the  moon  and  howled. 

[31] 


Below  us,  to  our  right,  the  harbour  gleamed, 
In  front,  pale  with  the  moon,  the  city  dreamed, 
Roof  upon  roof,  with  pointing  fingers  white, 
The  minarets,  frost-fretted  with  the  light. 
With  many  a  bubbled  dome-top  Uke  a  shell 
Covering  the  hillside  to  the  citadel. 


"There,  to  the  left,"  said  Gerard,  "where  the  trees  are, 
That  whiteness  is  the  palace  of  the  Caesar, 
His  gardens  and  his  fishpools.     That  long  building 
Flanked  by  the  domes  that  glitter  so  with  gilding 
Is  where  the  women  are.     She  will  be  there. 
But  courage,  comrade,  never  yield  to  care, 
We'll  set  her  free,  before  the  morning  breaks. 
But  oh,  my  son,  no  more  of  your  mistakes. 
What  made  you  trust  Duhamel  as  you  did? 
Well,  he  is  dead.     The  world  is  better  rid 
Of  men  Hke  him.     He  tempted  and  betrayed 
Those  two  poor  souls  last  year. 

Ah,  when  he  bade 
You  go  to  watch  the  guard  I  studied  him. 
He  was  a  bitter  viper,  supple  —  slim. 
When  he  had  judged  that  you  had  reached  the  entry, 
He  stole  towards  the  grate  and  called  the  sentry, 
'Hussein,  Hussein  — '  but  Hussein  never  heard. 
He  called  him  twice,  but  never  called  the  third 
I  stopped  his  calHng,  luckily  for  you." 

[32I 


"Yes,  but"  (I  said),  "what  did  he  mean  to  do, 
Calling  the  sentry?    What  could  that  have  done?" 
''Caught  you  in  trying  to  escape,  my  son, 
The  thing  they  love  to  do  from  time  to  time. 
They  reckon  that  examples  stop  the  crime. 
One  caught  and  skinned  makes  many  fear  to  try. 
They  would  have  flayed  your  skin  off  cruelly 
In  face  of  all  these  slaves,  to  daunt  them  down. 
Then  you'd  have  hung  a  dying  in  the  town 
Nailed  to  some  post,  two  days,  perhaps,  or  three, 
With  thirst  and  flies. 


But  let  Duhamel  be, 
Bad  though  he  was,  misfortune  tempts  a  soul 
Worse  than  we  think,  and  few  men  can  control 
Their  virtue,  being  slave ;  and  he  had  been 
A  Knight  of  France,  a  courtier  of  the  Queen. 
He  must  have  suffered  to  have  fallen  so, 
A  slave,  a  spy  on  slaves ;  we  cannot  know 
Thank  God,  what  power  of  sinking  lies  in  us. 
God  keep  us  all." 


So  talking  to  me  thus, 
He  turned  me  leftward  from  the  citadel 
Uphill.     He  said,  *'I  know  this  city  well, 
There  is  the  Khahf's  palace  straight  ahead. 
How  many  days  I've  staggered  nearly  dead 
From  thirst,  and  from  the  sun,  and  from  the  load, 
Up  to  the  palace-gates  along  this  road, 
Bearing  the  plunder  of  the  cruise  to  store, 
After  a  month  of  tugging  at  the  oar, 
But  now,  please  God,  I  shall  not  come  again." 

»  [33I 


Our  talking  stopped ;  we  turned  into  a  lane. 
High,  white-washed  walls  rose  up  on  either  side, 
The  narrow  gash  between  was  four  feet  wide, 
And  there  at  sprawl  within  the  narrow  way 
With  head  in  hood  a  sleeping  beggar  lay. 
We  stepped  across  his  body  heedfully 
Deep  in  his  dream  he  muttered  drowsily. 


We  tip-toed  on.     The  wall-tops,  high  above, 
White  in  the  quiet  moonlight,  hid  my  love. 
We  crept  like  worms  in  darkness  yard  by  yard. 
Still  as  the  dead,  but  that  our  hearts  beat  hard. 
And,  spite  of  self,  my  teeth  clickt  from  the  flood 
Of  quick  excitement  running  in  my  blood. 
We  were  so  near  her,  and  the  peril  came 
Close,  with  the  moment  that  would  prove  the  same. 


The  lane  turned  sharply  twice.     In  shadow  dark. 

With  shiverings  of  singing  like  a  lark, 

A  fountain  sprang,  relented,  sprinkled,  bubbled, 

In  some  cool  garden  that  the  moonhght  troubled. 

Unseen  by  us,  although  a  smell  of  roses 

Warm  on  the  wind,  stole  to  us  from  its  closes. 

Then  came  a  wood-smoke  smell,  and  mixed  therewith 

Gums  from  the  heart's  blood  of  the  sinnam's  pith. 

And  Gerard  touched  me.     We  had  reached  the  place. 

The  woman's  palace-wall  was  there  in  face 

The  garden-wall  merged  with  it,  moonlight-topped, 

Just  where  the  two  together  merged  we  stopped. 

[34] 


Then,  as  we  stood  there,  breathing,  we  could  hear, 
Beyond  the  wall,  some  footsteps  loitering  near, 
Some  garden  sentry  slowly  paced  his  watch 
Crooning  a  love  song ;  I  could  smell  the  match 
That  smouldered  in  the  linstock  at  his  hand. 


His  footsteps  passed  away  upon  the  sand 
Slowly,  with  pauses,  for  he  stopped  to  eat 
The  green  buds  of  the  staric  on  his  beat. 
When  he  had  gone,  a  cock  crowed  in  the  lane. 
"It  will  be  morning  when  he  crows  again," 
Was  in  our  thoughts :  we  had  full  little  time. 

Some  joist-holes  gave  us  foothold,  we  could  cHmb 
Without  much  trouble  to  the  wall's  flat  top, 
There  we  lay  still,  to  let  the  plaster  drop, 
And  see  what  dangers  lay  below  us  there. 

The  garden  of  the  palace  breathed  sweet  air 
Under  our  perch,  the  fountain's  leaping  gHtter 
Shone ;  a  bird  started  with  a  frightened  twitter. 
Alleys  of  blossomed  fruit  trees  girt  a  cool 
White  marble  screen  about  a  bathing  pool, 
The  palace  rose  beyond  among  its  trees, 
Splay-fronded  figs  and  dates  and  cypresses. 

Close  to  our  left  hands  was  the  Woman's  House. 

We  crept  along  our  wall-top  perilous 

Till  we  could  touch  the  roof  that  hid  my  love 

A  teaken  joist-end  jutted  out  above. 

We  swung  ourselves  upon  the  roof  thereby. 

[35] 


The  dewy  wet  flat  house-top  faced  the  sky. 
We  crouched  together  there. 

Sweet  smoke  was  wreathing 
Out  of  a  trap-door  near  us ;  heavy  breathing 
Came  from  a  woman  sleeping  near  the  trap. 
I  crept  to  her,  not  knowing  what  might  hap. 
She  was  an  old  Moor  woman  with  primmed  lips, 
And  foul  white  hair,  and  hennaed  finger  tips 
That  clutched  a  dark  hair  blanket  to  her  chin. 


I  crept  to  the  trap-door  and  peered  within. 
A  ladder  led  within.     A  lantern  burning 
Shewed  us  a  passage  leading  to  a  turning  j 
But  open  to  the  garden  at  one  end. 


Even  as  we  peered,  a  man  came  round  the  bend, 
Walked  slowly  down  that  lamp-Ut  corridor, 
And  stood  to  watch  the  garden  at  the  door. 
We  saw  his  back  within  that  moonht  square. 
He  had  a  curving  sword  which  glittered  bare.    . 
He  stood  three  minutes  still,  watching  the  night, 
Each  beating  second  made  the  east  more  fight. 
He  cracked  and  refished  nuts  or  melon  seeds. 

[36] 


The  hoof-sparks  of  the  morning's  running  steeds 
Made  a  pale  dust  now  in  the  distant  east 
But  still  the  man  stood  cracking  at  his  feast 
Nut  after  nut ;  Then  flinging  broken  shell 
Into  the  rose-walk,  clicking  as  it  fell, 
He  turned  towards  us  up  the  passage  dim. 
There  at  the  trap  we  crouched  right  over  him, 
And  as  he  passed  beneath,  his  fingers  tried 
A  door  below  us  in  the  passage-side. 
Then,  slowly  loitering  on,  he  reached  and  passed 
The  passage  turning ;  he  was  gone  at  last 
His  footsteps  died  away ;  they  struck  on  stone 
In  some  far  cloister ;  we  were  left  alone. 

Then,  while  our  leaping  hearts  beat  like  to  drums 
We  took  the  gambler's  way,  that  takes  what  comes. 
We  sUd  into  the  trap  and  down  the  stair. 
Steep,  like  a  loft's ;  eleven  rungs  there  were. 
We  stood  within  the  passage  at  the  door 
Tried  by  the  guard  that  little  while  before. 

Within,  there  was  a  rusthng  and  a  chinking, 
(Like  the  glass  dangles  that  the  wind  sets  cUnking) 
And  something  tense  there  was  within ;  the  throbbing 
Of  hearts  in  a  despair  too  deep  for  sobbing 
We  felt  it  there  before  we  pressed  the  latch. 

The  teaken  bar  rose  stiflfly  from  its  catch. 
We  slipt  within  and  closed  the  door  again. 
We  were  within  the  dwelling  place  of  pain, 
Among  the  women  whom  the  Moors  had  taken. 
The  broken-hearts,  despairing  and  forsaken. 
The  desolate  that  cried  where  no  man  heard. 

[37l 


Nobody  challenged,  but  some  women  stirred. 

It  was  so  dark  at  first,  after  the  moon. 

A  smoking  censer,  swinging,  creaked  a  croon, 

There  was  a  hanging  lamp  of  beaten  brass 

That  gave  dim  light  through  scraps  of  coloured  glass 

I  saw  a  long  low  room  with  many  a  heap 

Dark,  on  the  floor,  where  women  lay  asleep 

On  silken  cushions.     Round  the  wall  there  ran 

(Dark,  too,  with  cushioned  women)  a  divan, 

And  women  stirred  and  little  chains  were  shaken. 


What  horror  'tis,  to  prisoners,  to  waken 

Out  of  the  dreams  of  home  back  to  the  chain, 

Back  to  the  iron  and  the  mill  again, 

In  some  far  land  among  one's  enemies. 

I  knew  that  then ;  those  women  made  me  wise. 


We  stared  into  the  twilight  till  our  eyes 
Could  see  more  clearly  :  no  one  challenged  us. 
But  standing  back  against  the  doorway  thus, 
I  saw  the  warden  of  the  room,  asleep, 
Close  to  me,  on  the  cushions,  breathing  deep, 
Her  hard  face  made  like  iron  by  the  gloom. 
An  old  grim  Moor  that  warden  of  the  room, 
A  human  iron  fettered  on  the  poor. 
Far  down  the  room  a  fetter  touched  the  floor. 

[38] 


Even  in  the  gloom  I  knew  that  she  was  there, 
My  April  of  a  woman  with  bright  hair ; 
She  sat  upright  against  the  wall  alone 
By  burning  meditation  turned  to  stone, 
Staring  ahead  and  when  I  touched  her  shoulder 
Her  body  (stiffened  Hke  a  corpse  and  colder) 
Seemed  not  herself,  her  mind  seemed  far  away. 


There  was  no  need  to  talk,  but  to  essay 

The  Hght  steel  chain  that  linked  her  to  the  wall. 

We  gripped  it,  heaving,  till  its  Hnks  were  gall 

Biting  across  our  hands,  but  still  we  drave 

She,  I  and  Gerard  heaving  till  it  gave 

The  leaded  staple  snapped  across  the  shank. 


The  loosed  chain  struck  the  flooring  with  a  clank. 

We  all  lay  still,  my  arm  about  my  own. 

''Who's  moving  there?    Be  silent,"  snapped  the  crone. 


Cross  with  the  slave  who  had  awakened  her 

She  stared  towards  us.     We  could  hear  her  stir, 

Craning  towards  us,  but  she  could  not  see 

More  than  the  cushions  tumbled  there  with  me. 

She  thought,  perhaps,  "That  fair  one  shook  her  chain." 

She  growled,  "I'll  beat  you,  if  you  stir  again. 

A  Moorish  whip  upon  your  Christian  skin." 

[39] 


I  saw  her  clutch  her  blanket  to  her  chin 

Turn  to  her  side  and  settle  to  her  rest. 

The  dawn,  that  brings  the  skylark  from  her  nest 

Was  flying  with  bright  feet  that  ever  hasted. 

Each  moment  there  meant  happy  chances  wasted, 

Yet  still  we  had  to  stay  until  she  slept. 

When  she  had  fallen  to  a  doze  we  crept 
Stealthily  to  the  door  on  hands  and  knees. 
All  of  those  women  came  from  over  seas. 
We  could  not  waken  them  to  share  our  chance. 
Not  Peru's  silver  nor  the  fields  of  France 
Could  buy  a  place  in  our  society. 
One  tender  feeling  might  have  made  us  die 
All  three,  and  been  no  kindness  to  the  fourth : 
Compassions  perish  when  the  wind  is  north. 

Close  to  the  door,  a  woman  leaned  and  caught 
My  darhng's  hand  and  kissed  it  swift  as  thought 
And  whispered,  "O,  good  luck,"  and  then  was  still. 
She  had  no  luck,  but  0  she  had  good  will. 
We  blest  her  in  our  hearts. 

The  warder  stirred 
Growling  but  dozing  lightly,  then  we  heard 
Outside  the  door,  within  three  feet  of  us, 
The  footsteps  of  the  sentry  perilous. 
The  cHnking  of  his  scabbard  lightly  touching 
Some  metal  button,  then  his  fingers  clutching 
The  teaken  catch  to  try  if  it  were  home. 

We  stood  stone-still  expecting  him  to  come. 
He  did  not  come,  he  pushed  the  door  and  passed, 
Treading  this  beat  exactly  like  the  last, 
To  loiter  at  the  door  to  crack  and  spit. 

[40] 


The  time  dragged  by  till  he  had  done  with  it. 
Then  back  he  came,  and  once  again  he  shook 
The  catch  upon  its  socket,  then  he  took 
His  way  along  the  passage  out  of  hearing. 


The  room  'gan  glimmer  from  the  dawning  nearing 
The  warder  struggled  with  a  dream  and  cried 
The  lamp-flame  purred  from  want  of  oil  and  died. 
And  she,  the  woman  who  had  kissed  her  hand. 
Whispered,  "O  go,  for  God's  sake,  do  not  stand 
One  moment  more,  but  go.     God  help  you  free." 


We  crept  out  of  the  prison  silently, 

Gerard  the  last,  who  closed  the  door  behind  us, 

The  crowing  of  a  cock  came  to  remind  us 

That  it  was  morning  now  with  dayHght  breaking 

The  leaves  all  shivering  and  birds  awaking. 

We  climbed  the  ladder. 


Its  eleven  rungs 
Called  to  the  Moors  of  us  with  all  their  tongues. 
"Wake,"  "Wake;  "  "They  fly."    "The  three  of  them  are 

flymg." 
"O  broken  house,"  "0  sleepers,  thieves  are  trying 
To  take  the  Khahf 's  treasure."     "  Guards,"  "  Awake. " 
"  They  rob  the  women."     "  For  the  prophet's  sake." 
"Slaughter  these  Christians."    Thus  the  ladder  spoke 
Three  times  aloud  yet  nobody  awoke 
Even  the  hag  upon  the  roof  was  still. 

[41] 


Now  the  red  cock  of  dawning  triumphed  shrill 

And  little  ends  of  landwind  shook  the  leaves. 

White  through  the  cypress  gleamed  the  palace  eaves. 

The  dim  and  dewy  beauty  of  the  blossom, 

Shy  with  the  daybreak,  trembled  in  its  bosom. 

Some  snowy  petals  loitered  to  the  ground. 

The  city  houses  had  a  wakening  sound 

Some  smoke  was  rising,  and  we  heard  the  stirs 

Made  at  the  gates  by  country  marketers ; 

Only  a  moment's  twilight  yet  remained. 

The  supple  links  that  held  my  darling  chained 
Served  as  a  rope  to  help  her  down  the  wall. 
Our  hearts  stood  still  to  hear  the  plaster  fall 
But  down  we  scrambled  safely  to  the  lane. 
We  heard  the  hag  upon  the  roof  complain 
She  called  strange  names  and  hstened  for  reply. 
We  heard  her  tread  the  ladder  heavily 
It  was  her  rising  time,  perhaps,  we  thought. 

And  now  the  dangers  that  the  dayHght  brought 
Came  thick  upon  us ;  for  our  foreign  dress 
Betrayed  us  at  each  step  beyond  a  guess, 
Even  to  be  seen  was  certain  death  to  us. 
We  hid  my  darUng's  face,  and  hasting  thus 
Kept  up  the  narrow  lane  as  Gerard  bade. 
He  said,  "  Beyond,  the  city  wall  is  laid 
Heaped  in  the  ditch  and  we  can  cross  it  there. 
It  fell  from  rottenness  and  dis-repair. 
They  set  no  guard  there  —  or  they  did  not  set. 
They  will  not  notice  us,  and  we  can  get 
Out  to  the  tombs  and  hide  inside  a  vault." 

[42] 


In  overbrimming  beauty  without  fault 
The  sun  brought  colour  to  that  dingy  hive. 
It  made  the  black  tree  green,  the  sea  alive, 
The  huts  hke  palaces,  but  us  who  fled 
Like  ghosts  at  cockcrow  hasting  to  the  dead. 


The  lane  had  ceased.     We  reached  an  open  space, 
The  greenish  slope,  the  horses'  baiting  place, 
Between  the  city  and  the  palace  wall. 
The  hill  dipped  sharply  in  a  steepish  fall 
Down  to  the  houses,  and  the  grass  was  worn 
With  hoofs,  and  Httered  with  the  husks  of  corn. 
"Now,  slowly,"  Gerard  said,  "  for  Moors  go  slowly." 


There  trembling  in  its  blueness  dim  and  holy 
Lay  the  great  water  bursting  on  the  Mole 
Her  tremblings  came  as  thoughts  come  in  a  soul. 
There  was  our  peace,  there  was  the  road  to  home, 
That  never  trodden  trembling  bright  with  foam. 
"There  lies  the  road,"  said  Gerard,  "now,  come  on. 


The  high  leaves  in  the  trees  above  us  shone, 
For  now  the  sun  had  climbed  the  eastern  hill, 
The  coldness  of  the  dawn  was  with  us  still. 
We  walked  along  the  grass  towards  an  alley 
Between  high  walls  beyond  a  tiny  valley. 


Fronting  this  alley's  mouth  our  sloping  grass 

Dipped  down  and  up,  a  Httle  gut  there  was 

Down  which  we  slithered  and  from  which  we  cHmbed. 

[43] 


And  just  as  we  emerged,  exactly  timed, 
Just  as  we  drew  my  darling  to  the  top, 
There  came  a  noise  that  made  our  pulses  stop. 


For  down  towards  us,  blocking  all  the  road, 
Their  horses  striking  sparks  out  as  they  strode, 
Came  lancers  clattering  with  their  hands  held  high, 
Their  knees  bent  up,  and  many  a  sharp  quick  cry ; 
The  pennons  in  their  lance  heads  flapped  like  flame. 


Three  ranks  in  twos  and  then  a  swordsman  came, 
Then  one  who  held  a  scarlet  banner ;  then 
One  in  a  scarlet  cloak,  a  King  of  men. 


It  was  the  Khahf 's  self,  returning  home. 
His  rein  had  smeared  his  stalHon's  crest  with  foam, 
I  noticed  that.     He  was  not  twenty  yards 
From  us.    He  saw  us. 


At  a  sign  his  guards 
Rode  round  us ;  bade  us  stand ;  there  was  no  hope. 


"Our  luck,"  said  Gerard.     Then  they  took  a  rope 
And  hitched  our  wrists  together.     Then  they  led 
The  three  of  us  down-hearted  like  the  dead 
Before  the  Khalif's  self.     The  swordsman  bared 
His  right  arm  to  the  shoulder  and  prepared. 

[44] 


The  Khalif  stared  at  us,  and  we  at  him 

We  were  defiant  at  him,  he  was  grim. 

A  hawk-like  fellow,  like  a  bird  of  prey, 

A  hawk  to  strike,  a  swift  to  get  away. 

His  dean  brown  face  (with  blood  beneath  the  brown), 

Puckered,  his  thin  lips  tightened  in  a  frown. 

He  knew  without  our  telHng,  what  we  were. 

The  swordsman  looked  for  word  to  kill  us  there. 

I  saw  the  lancers'  glances  at  their  chief. 
Death  on  the  instant  would  have  seemed  relief 
To  that  not  knowing  what  her  fate  would  be 
After  the  sword  had  made  an  end  of  me. 

The  KhaHf 's  face  grew  grimmer ;  then  he  said 

*'  Bring  them  with  us."    The  swordsman  sheathed  his  blade. 

They  took  us  to  the  palace,  to  a  chamber 
SmelHng  of  bruised  spice  and  burning  amber, 
There  slaves  were  sent  to  fetch  the  newly  risen 
Servants  and  warders  of  the  woman's  prison. 
The  white  of  death  was  on  them  when  they  came. 

The  Khahf  lightened  on  them  with  quick  flame. 
Harsh  though  she  was,  I  sorrowed  for  the  crone, 
For  she  was  old,  a  woman,  and  alone, 
And  came,  in  age,  upon  disgrace  through  me ; 
I  know  not  what  disgrace,  I  did  not  see 
Those  crones  again,  I  doubt  not  they  were  whipt 
For  letting  us  escape  them  while  they  slept. 
Perhaps  they  killed  the  sentry.     Who  can  tell? 
The  devil  ever  keeps  the  laws  in  hell. 

[4Sl 


They  dragged  them  out  to  justice  one  by  one. 
However  bitter  was  the  justice  done 
I  doubt  not  they  were  thankful  to  be  quit 
(At  cost  of  some  few  pangs)  the  fear  of  it. 
Then  our  turn  came. 


The  KhaUf's  fury  raged 
Because  our  eyes  had  seen  those  women  caged, 
Because  our  Christian  presence  had  defiled 
The  Wom.an's  House  and  somehow  had  beguiled 
A  woman-slave,  his  victim,  out  of  it. 
Against  all  Moorish  law  and  Holy  Writ 
If  we  had  killed  his  son  it  had  been  less. 


He  rose  up  in  his  place  and  rent  his  dress 
"Let  them  be  ganched  upon  the  hooks,"  he  cried, 
''Throughout  to-day,  but  not  till  they  have  died. 
Then  gather  all  the  slaves,  and  flay  these  three 
Alive,  before  them,  that  the  slaves  may  see 
What  comes  to  dogs  who  try  to  get  away. 
So,  ganch  the  three." 


Then  Gerard  answered,  "Stay. 
Before  you  fling  us  to  the  hooks,  hear  this. 
There  are  two  laws,  and  men  may  go  amiss 
Either  by  breaking  or  by  keeping  one. 
There  is  man's  law  by  which  man's  work  is  done. 
Your  galleys  rowed,  your  palace  kept  in  state 
Your  victims  ganched  or  headed  on  the  gate 
And  accident  has  bent  us  to  its  yoke. 

[46] 


We  break  it :  death :  but  it  is  better  broke. 


"  You  know,  you  Khalif,  by  what  death  you  reign, 
What  force  of  fraud,  what  cruelty  of  pain, 
What  spies  and  prostitutes  support  your  power, 
And  help  your  law  to  run  its  Httle  hour, 
We,  who  are  but  ourselves,  defy  it  all. 


"  We  were  free  people  till  you  made  us  thrall 
I  was  a  sailor  whom  you  took  at  sea 
While  sailing  home.     This  woman  that  you  see 
You  broke  upon  with  murder  in  the  night 
To  drag  her  here  to  die  for  your  delight, 
This  young  man  is  her  lover. 

When  he  knew 
That  she  was  taken  by  your  pirate  crew 
He  followed  her  to  save  her,  or  at  least 
•  Be  near  her  in  her  grief.     Man  is  a  beast 
And  women  are  his  pasture  by  your  law. 
This  young  man  was  in  safety,  but  he  saw 
His  darhng  taken  to  the  slave-girls'  pen 
Of  weeping  in  the  night  and  beasts  of  men. 
He  gave  up  everything,  risked  everything, 
Came  to  your  galley,  took  the  iron  ring. 
Rowed  at  the  bitter  oar-loom  as  a  slave. 
Only  for  love  of  her,  for  hope  to  save 
Her  from  one  bruise  of  all  the  many  bruises 
That  fall  upon  a  woman  when  she  loses 
Those  whom  your  gang  of  bloodhounds  made  her  lose. 

[47] 


"  Knowing  another  law  we  could  not  choose 

But  stamp  your  law  beneath  our  feet  as  dust, 

Its  bloodshed  and  its  rapine  and  its  lust, 

For  one  clean  hour  of  struggle  to  be  free ; 

She  for  her  passionate  pride  of  chastity, 

He  for  his  love  of  her,  and  I  because 

I'm  not  too  old  to  glory  in  the  cause 

Of  generous  souls  who  have  harsh  measure  meted. 


"  We  did  the  generous  thing  and  are  defeated. 
Boast,  then,  to-night,  when  you  have  drunken  deep, 
Between  the  singing  woman's  song  and  sleep, 
That  you  have  tortured  to  the  death  three  slaves 
Who  spat  upon  your  law  and  found  their  graves 
Helping  each  other  in  the  generous  thing. 
No  mighty  triumph  for  a  boast,  O  King." 


Then  he  was  silent  while  the  KhaUf  stared. 
Never  before  had  any  being  dared 
To  speak  thus  to  him.     All  the  courtiers  paled. 
We,  who  had  died,  expected  to  be  haled 
To  torture  there  and  then  before  the  crowd. 
It  was  so  silent  that  the  wind  seemed  loud 
Clicking  a  loose  slat  in  the  open  shutter. 
I  heard  the  distant  breakers  at  their  mutter 
Upon  the  Mole,  I  saw  my  darHng's  face 
Steady  and  proud ;  a  breathing  filled  the  place, 
Men  drawing  breath  until  the  KhaHf  spoke. 

[48] 


His  torn  dress  hung  upon  him  like  a  cloak 

He  spoke  at  last.     "You  speak  of  law,"  he  said. 

"By  climates  and  by  soils  the  laws  are  made. 

Ours  is  a  hawk-law  suited  to  the  land, 

This  rock  of  hawks  or  eyrie  among  sand, 

I  am  a  hawk,  the  hawk  law  pleases  me. 


"  But  I  am  man,  and,  being  man,  can  be 
Moved,  sometimes,  Christian,  by  the  law  which  makes 
Men  who  are  suffering  from  man's  mistakes, 
Brothers  sometimes. 

I  had  not  heard  this  tale 
Of  you,  the  lover,  following  to  jail 
The  woman  whom  you  loved.     You  bowed  your  neck 
Into  the  iron  fettered  to  the  deck. 
And  followed  her  to  prison,  all  for  love  ? 


"  Allah,  who  gives  men  courage  from  above, 
Has  surely  blessed  you,  boy. 


"  And  you,  his  queen; 
Without  your  love  his  courage  had  not  been. 
Your  beauty  and  your  truth  prevailed  on  him. 
Allah  has  blessed  you,  too. 


"  And  you,  the  grim 
Killer  of  men  at  midnight,  you  who  speak 
To  Kings  as  peers  with  colour  in  your  cheek, 
Allah  made  you  a  man  who  helps  his  friends. 

«  [49] 


"  God  made  you  all.     I  will  not  thwart  his  ends 
You  shall  be  free. 

Hear  all.    These  folk  are  free. 
You  Emir,  fit  a  xebec  for  the  sea 
To  let  them  sail  at  noon. 

Go  where  you  will. 
And  lest  my  rovers  should  molest  you  still, 
Here  is  my  seal  that  they  shall  let  you  pass." 


Throughout  the  room  a  sudden  murmur  was 
A  gasp  of  indrawn  breath  and  shifting  feet. 
So  hfe  was  given  back,  the  thing  so  sweet 
The  undrunk  cup  that  we  were  longing  for. 


My  darling  spoke,  "O  KhaHf,  one  gift  more. 

After  this  bounty  that  our  hearts  shall  praise 

At  all  our  praying-times  by  nights  and  days 

I  ask  yet  more,  O  raiser  from  the  dead. 

There  in  your  woman's  prison  as  we  fled 

A  hopeless  woman  blessed  us.     It  is  said 

That  blessings  from  the  broken  truly  bless. 

Khalif,  we  would  not  leave  in  hopelessness 

One  whose  great  heart  could  bless  us  even  then 

Even  as  we  left  her  in  the  prison  pen. 

She  wished  us  fortune  from  a  broken  heart. 

Let  her  come  with  us,  Khalif,  when  we  start." 

"Go,  you,"  the  Khalif  said,  "and  choose  her  forth." 

[so] 


At  noon  the  wind  was  blowing  to  the  north, 

A  swift  felucca  with  a  scarlet  sail 

Was  ready  for  us,  deep  with  many  a  bale. 

Of  gold  and  spice  and  silk,  the  great  King's  gifts. 

The  banners  of  the  King  were  on  her  Ufts. 

The  King  and  all  his  court  rode  down  to  see 

Us  four  glad  souls  put  seawards  from  Safifee. 


In  the  last  glowing  of  the  sunset's  gold 
We  looked  our  last  upon  that  pirate  hold ; 
The  palace  gilding  shone  awhile  like  fire, 
We  were  at  sea  with  all  our  heart's  desire 
Beauty  and  friendship  and  the  dream  fulfilled. 
The  golden  answer  to  the  deeply  willed. 
The  purely  longed  for,  hardly  tried  for  thing. 
Into  the  dark  our  sea  boat  dipped  her  wing 
Polaris  climbed  out  of  the  dark  and  shone. 
Then  came  the  moon,  and  now  Saffee  was  gone 
With  all  hell's  darkness  hidden  by  the  sea. 


O  beautiful  is  love  and  to  be  free 

Is  beautiful,  and  beautiful  are  friends. 

Love,  freedom,  comrades,  surely  make  amends 

For  all  these  thorns  through  which  we  walk  to  death. 

God  let  us  breathe  your  beauty  with  our  breath. 


All  early  in  the  Maytime  when  daylight  comes  at  four, 
We  blessed  the  hawthorn  blossom  that  welcomed  us  ashore, 
O  beautiful  in  this  Hving  that  passes  like  the  foam 
It  is  to  go  with  sorrow  yet  come  with  beauty  home. 


[51 


THE   HOUNDS   OF   HELL 


A 


BOUT  the  crowing  of  the  cock, 

When  the  shepherds  feel  the  cold, 
A  horse's  hoofs  went  clip-a-clock 
Along  the  Hangman's  wold. 


The  horse-hoofs  trotted  on  the  stone, 
The  hoof-sparks  glittered  by, 

And  then  a  hunting  horn  was  blown 
And  hounds  broke  into  cry. 


There  was  a  strangeness  in  the  horn, 

A  wildness  in  the  cry, 
A  power  of  devilry  forlorn 

Exulting  bloodily. 


A  power  of  night  that  ran  a  prey 

Along  the  hangman's  hill. 
The  shepherds  heard  the  spent  buck  bray 

And  the  horn  blow  for  the  kill. 


They  heard  the  worrying  of  the  hounds 
About  the  dead  beast's  bones  ; 

Then  came  the  horn,  and  then  the  sounds 
Of  horse-hoofs  treading  stones. 


"What  hounds  are  these,  that  hunt  the  night?" 

The  shepherds  asked  in  fear  : 
"Look,  there  are  calkins  clinking  bright; 

They  must  be  coming  here." 

[55. 


The  calkins  clinkered  to  a  spark, 

The  hunter  called  the  pack ; 
The  sheep-dogs'  fells  all  bristled  stark 

And  all  their  lips  went  back. 

"Lord  God,"  the  shepherds  said,  ''They  come; 

And  see  what  hounds  he  has ; 
All  dripping  bluish  fire,  and  dumb. 

And  nosing  to  the  grass. 

"  And  trotting  scatheless  through  the  gorse, 

And  bristling  in  the  fell : 
Lord,  it  is  death  upon  the  horse, 

And  they're  the  hounds  of  hell !" 

They  shook  to  watch  them  as  they  sped, 

All  black  against  the  sky ; 
A  horseman  with  a  hooded  head 

And  great  hounds  padding  by. 


When  daylight  drove  away  the  dark 
And  larks  went  up  and  thrilled. 

The  shepherds  climbed  the  wold  to  mark 
What  beast  the  hounds  had  killed. 


They  came  to  where  the  hounds  had  fed, 

And  in  that  trampled  place 
They  found  a  pedlar  lying  dead 

With  horror  in  his  face. 

[56] 


There  was  a  farmer  on  the  wold 
Where  all  the  brooks  begin, 

He  had  a  thousand  sheep  from  fold 
Out  grazing  on  the  whin. 


The  next  night,  as  he  lay  in  bed 
He  heard  a  canterer  come 

TrampKng  the  wold-top  with  a  tread 
That  sounded  like  a  drum. 


He  thought  it  was  a  post  that  rode, 
So  turned  him  to  his  sleep, 

But  the  canterer  in  his  dreams  abode 
Like  horse-hoofs  running  sheep. 

« 

And  in  his  dreams  a  horn  was  blown 
And  feathering  hounds  repHed, 

And  all  his  wethers  stood  like  stone 
In  rank  on  the  hillside. 


Then,  while  he  struggled  still  with  dreams, 

He  saw  his  wethers  run 
Before  a  pack  cheered  on  with  screams, 

The  thousand  sheep  as  one. 


So,  leaping  from  his  bed  in  fear, 

He  flung  the  window  back. 
And  he  heard  a  death-horn  blowing  clear 

And  the  crying  of  a  pack. 


[S7l 


And  the  thundering  of  a  thousand  sheep, 

All  mad  and  running  wild 
To  the  stone-pit  seven  fathoms  deep, 

Whence  all  the  town  is  tiled. 


After  them  came  the  hounds  of  hell 
With  hell's  own  fury  filled ; 

Into  the  pit  the  wethers  fell 
And  all  but  three  were  killed. 


The  hunter  blew  his  horn  a  note 
And  laughed  against  the  moon ; 

The  farmer's  breath  caught  in  his  throat, 
He  fell  into  a  swoon. 


The  next  night  when  the  watch  was  set 

A  heavy  rain  came  down, 
The  leaden  gutters  dripped  with  wet 

Into  the  shuttered  town. 


So  close  the  shutters  were,  the  chink 
Of  lamplight  scarcely  showed ; 

The  men  at  fireside  heard  no  clink 
Of  horse-hoofs  on  the  road. 


They  heard  the  creaking  hinge  complain 
And  the  mouse  that  gnawed  the  floor, 

And  the  limping  footsteps  of  the  rain 
On  the  stone  outside  the  door. 


[5SJ 


And  on  the  wold  the  rain  came  down 
Till  trickles  streakt  the  grass  : 

A  traveller  riding  to  the  town 
Drew  rein  to  let  it  pass. 


The  wind  sighed  in  the  fir-tree  tops, 
The  trickles  sobb'd  in  the  grass, 

The  branches  ran  with  showers  of  drops ; 
No  other  noise  there  was. 


Till  up  the  wold  the  traveller  heard 
A  horn  blow  faint  and  thin ; 

He  thought  it  was  the  curlew  bird 
Lamenting  to  the  whin ; 


And  when  the  far  horn  blew  again. 
He  thought  an  owl  hallooed, 

Or  a  rabbit  gave  a  shriek  of  pain 
As  the  stoat  leapt  in  the  wood. 


But  when  the  horn  blew  next,  it  blew 
A  trump  that  spHt  the  air. 

And  hounds  gave  cry  to  an  Halloo  — 
The  hunt  of  heU  was  there. 


"Black,"  (said  the  traveller),  ''black  and  swift, 

Those  running  devils  came ; 
Scoring  to  cry  with  hackles  stifft. 

And  grin- jo  wis  dripping  flame." 

[59: 


They  settled  to  the  sightless  scent, 

And  up  the  hill  a  cry 
Told  where  the  frightened  quarry  went, 

Well  knowing  it  would  die. 


Then  presently  a  cry  rang  out, 
And  a  mort  blew  for  the  kill ; 

A  shepherd  with  his  throat  torn  out 
Lay  dead  upon  the  hill. 


When  this  was  known,  the  shepherds  drove 

Their  flocks  into  the  town  ; 
No  man,  for  money  or  for  love. 

Would  watch  them  on  the  down. 


But  night  by  night  the  terror  ran, 
The  townsmen  heard  them  still ; 

Nightly  the  hell-hounds  hunted  man 
And  the  hunter  whooped  the  kill. 

The  men  who  lived  upon  the  moor 

Would  waken  to  the  scratch 
Of  hounds'  claws  digging  at  the  door. 

Or  scraping  at  the  latch. 

And  presently  no  man  would  go 

Without  doors  after  dark. 
Lest  hell's  black  hunting  horn  should  blow. 

And  hell's  black  bloodhounds  mark. 

60] 


They  shivered  round  the  fire  at  home, 

While  out  upon  the  bent 
The  hounds  with  black  jowls  dropping  foam 

Went  nosing  to  the  scent. 


Men  let  the  hay  crop  run  to  seed, 
And  the  corn  crop  sprout  in  ear, 

And  the  root  crop  choke  itself  in  weed 
That  hell-hound  hunting  year. 


Empty  to  heaven  lay  the  wold, 

Village  and  church  grew  green. 
The  courtyard  flagstones  spread  with  mould, 

And  weeds  sprang  up  between. 


And  sometimes  when  the  cock  had  crowed, 
And  the  hillside  stood  out  grey, 

Men  saw  them  slinking  up  the  road. 
All  sullen  from  their  prey. 


A  hooded  horseman  on  a  black, 
With  nine  black  hounds  at  heel. 

After  the  hell-hunt  going  back 
All  bloody  from  their  meal. 


And  in  men's  minds  a  fear  began 
That  hell  had  over-hurled 

The  guardians  of  the  soul  of  man 
And  come  to  rule  the  world. 


[6i] 


With  bitterness  of  heart  by  day, 
And  terror  in  the  night, 

And  the  bUndness  of  a  barren  way 
And  withering  of  delight. 


St.  Withiel  hved  upon  the  moor. 
Where  the  peat-men  live  in  holes ; 

He  worked  among  the  peat-men  poor, 
Who  only  have  their  souls. 

He  brought  them  nothing  but  his  love 
And  the  will  to  do  them  good. 

But  power  filled  him  from  above, 
His  very  touch  was  food. 


Men  told  St.  Withiel  of  the  hounds 
And  how  they  killed  their  prey. 

He  thought  them  far  beyond  his  bounds, 
So  many  miles  away. 


Then  one  whose  son  the  hounds  had  killed 

Told  him  the  tale  at  length ; 
St.  Withiel  pondered  why  God  willed 

That  hell  should  have  such  strength. 


Then  one,  a  passing  traveller,  told 
How,  since  the  hounds  had  come. 

The  church  was  empty  on  the  wold, 
And  all  the  priests  were  dumb. 

62  1 


St.  Withiel  rose  at  this,  and  said, 
"This  priest  will  not  be  dumb ; 

My  spirit  will  not  be  afraid 
Though  all  hell's  devils  come." 


He  took  his  stick  and  out  he  went, 

The  long  way  to  the  wold, 
Where  the  sheep-bells  clink  upon  the  bent 

And  every  wind  is  cold. 


He  past  the  rivers  running  red 
And  the  mountains  standing  bare ; 

At  last  the  wold-land  lay  ahead, 
Un-yellowed  by  the  share. 


All  in  the  brown  October  time 
He  clambered  to  the  weald ; 

The  plum  lay  purpled  into  slime, 
The  harvest  lay  in  field. 


Trampled  by  many-footed  rain. 
The  sun-burnt  corn  lay  dead ; 

The  myriad  finches  in  the  grain 
Rose  bothering  at  his  tread. 


The  myriad  finches  took  a  sheer 
And  settled  back  to  food : 

A  man  was  not  a  thing  to  fear 
In  such  a  soHtude. 


63 


The  hurrying  of  their  wings  died  out, 

A  silence  took  the  hill ; 
There  was  no  dog,  no  bell,  no  shout, 

The  windmill's  sails  were  still. 


The  gate  swung  creaking  on  its  hasp, 
The  pear  splashed  from  the  tree, 

In  the  rotting  apple's  heart  the  wasp 
Was  drunken  drowsily. 


The  grass  upon  the  cart-wheel  ruts 
Had  made  the  trackways  dim, 

The  rabbits  ate  and  hopped  their  scuts, 
They  had  no  fear  of  him. 


The  sunset  reddened  in  the  west ; 

The  distant  depth  of  blue 
Stretched  out  and  dimmed ;  to  twiggy  nest 

The  rooks  in  clamour  drew. 


The  oakwood  in  his  mail  of  brass 
Bowed  his  great  crest  and  stood ; 

The  pine-tree  saw  St.  Withiel  pass, 
His  great  bole  blushed  like  blood. 


Then  tree  and  wood  alike  were  dim, 
Yet  still  St.  Withiel  strode  ; 

The  only  noise  to  comfort  him 
Were  his  footsteps  on  the  road. 


64 


The  crimson  in  the  west  was  smoked, 
The  west-wind  heaped  the  wrack, 

Each  tree  seemed  like  a  murderer  cloaked 
To  stab  him  in  the  back. 


Darkness  and  desolation  came 

To  dog  his  footsteps  there ; 
The  dead  leaves  rustling  called  his  name, 

The  death-moth  brushed  his  hair. 


The  murmurings  of  the  wind  fell  still ; 

He  stood  and  stared  around : 
He  was  alone  upon  the  hill, 

On  devil-haunted  ground. 


What  was  the  whitish  thing  which  stood 
In  front,  with  one  arm  raised, 

Like  death  a-grinning  in  a  hood  ? 
The  saint  stood  still  and  gazed. 


"What  are  you?"  said  St.  Withiel,  "Speak!" 

Not  any  answer  came 
But  the  night-wind  making  darkness  bleak, 

And  the  leaves  that  called  his  name. 


A  glow  shone  on  the  whitish  thing, 

It  neither  stirred  nor  spoke : 
In  spite  of  faith,  a  shuddering 

Made  the  good  saint  to  choke. 

[6s 


He  struck  the  whiteness  with  his  staff 

It  was  a  withered  tree : 
An  owl  flew  from  it  with  a  laugh, 

The  darkness  shook  with  glee. 


The  darkness  came  all  round  him  close 

And  cackled  in  his  ear : 
The  midnight,  full  of  life  none  knows, 

Was  very  full  of  fear. 


The  darkness  cackled  in  his  heart, 
That  things  of  hell  were  there, 

That  the  startled  rabbit  played  a  part 
And  the  stoat's  leap  did  prepare  — 


Prepare  the  stage  of  night  for  blood 
And  the  mind  of  night  for  death. 

For  a  spirit  trembling  in  the  mud. 
In  an  agony  for  breath. 


A  terror  came  upon  the  saint. 
It  stripped  his  spirit  bare ; 

He  was  sick  body  standing  faint, 
Cold  sweat  and  stiffened  hair. 


He  took  his  terror  by  the  throat 
And  stamped  it  underfoot ; 

Then,  far  away,  the  death-horn's  note 
Quailed  like  a  screech-owl's  hoot. 


66 


Still  far  away  that  devil's  horn 

Its  quavering  death-note  blew, 
But  the  saint  could  hear  the  crackhng  thorn 

That  the  hounds  trod  as  they  drew. 


"Lord,  it  is  true,"  St.  Withiel  moaned, 
''And  the  hunt  is  drawing  near ; 

Devils  that  Paradise  disowned ; 
They  know  that  I  am  here. 


"  And  there,  O  God,  a  hound  gives  tongue. 
And  great  hounds  quarter  dim."  — 

The  saint's  hands  to  his  body  clung, 
He  knew  they  came  for  him. 


Then  close  at  hand  the  horn  was  loud. 

Like  Peter's  cock  of  old. 
For  joy  that  Peter's  soul  was  cowed, 

And  Jesus'  body  sold. 


Then  terribly  the  hounds  in  cry 
Gave  answer  to  the  horn ; 

The  saint  in  terror  turned  to  fly 
Before  his  flesh  was  torn. 


After  his  body  came  the  hounds, 

After  the  hounds  the  horse ; 
Their  running  crackled  with  the  sounds 

Of  fire  that  runs  in  gorse. 

[67] 


The  saint's  breath  failed,  but  still  they  came 

The  hunter  cheered  them  on ; 
Even  as  a  wind  that  blows  a  flame 

In  the  vigil  of  St.  John. 


And  as  St.  Withiel's  terror  grew 

The  crying  of  the  pack 
Bayed  nearer,  as  though  terror  drew 

Those  grip  teeth  to  his  back- 


No  hope  was  in  his  soul,  no  stay, 
Nothing  but  screaming  will 

To  save  his  terror-stricken  clay 
Before  the  hounds  could  kill. 


The  laid  corn  tripped,  the  bramble  caught, 

He  stumbled  on  the  stones. 
The  thorn  that  scratched  him,  to  his  thought, 

Was  hell's  teeth  at  his  bones. 


His  legs  seemed  bound  as  in  a  dream, 
The  wet  earth  held  his  feet. 

He  screamed  aloud  as  rabbits  scream 
Before  the  stoat's  teeth  meet. 


A  black  thing  struck  him  on  the  brow, 
A  blackness  loomed  and  waved ; 

It  was  a  tree.     He  caught  a  bough 
And  scrambled  up  it,  saved. 

[68] 


Saved  for  the  moment,  as  he  thought, 

He  pressed  against  the  bark : 
The  hell-hounds  missed  the  thing  they  sought, 

They  quartered  in  the  dark. 


They  panted  underneath  the  tree, 
They  quartered  to  the  call, 

The  hunter  cried,  "Yoi  doit,  go  see!" 
His  death-horn  blew  a  fall. 


Now  up,  now  down,  the  hell-hounds  went 

With  soft  feet  padding  wide  ; 
They  tried,  but  could  not  hit  the  scent, 

However  hard  they  tried. 


Then  presently  the  horn  was  blown, 
The  hounds  were  called  away. 

The  hoof-beats  ghttered  on  the  stone 
And  trotted  on  the  brae. 


The  saint  gat  strength,  but  with  it  came 

A  horror  of  his  fear, 
Anguish  at  having  failed,  and  shame, 

And  sense  of  judgment  near. 


Anguish  at  having  left  his  charge 

And  having  failed  his  trust. 
At  having  flung  his  sword  and  targe 

To  save  his  body's  dust. 

[69 


He  clambered  down  the  saving  tree 
"I  am  unclean,"  he  cried. 

"Christ  died  upon  a  tree  for  me, 
I  used  a  tree  to  hide. 


"  The  hell  hounds  bayed  about  the  cross, 

And  tore  his  clothes  apart, 
But  Christ  was  gold  and  I  am  dross, 

And  mud  is  in  my  heart." 


He  stood  in  anguish  in  the  field ; 

A  little  wind  blew  by, 
The  dead  leaves  dropped,  the  great  stars  wheeled 

Their  squadrons  in  the  sky. 


"Lord,  I  will  try  again,"  he  said, 
"Though  all  hell's  devils  tear. 

This  time  I  will  not  be  afraid 
And  what  is  sent  I'll  dare." 


He  set  his  face  against  the  slope 

Until  he  topped  the  brae ; 
Courage  had  healed  his  fear,  and  hope 

Had  put  his  shame  away. 


And  then,  far  off,  a  quest-note  ran, 

A  feathering  hound  repHed : 
The  hounds  still  drew  the  night  for  man 

Along  that  countryside. 

[70] 


Then  one  by  one  the  hell-hounds  spoke 
And  still  the  horn  made  cheer ; 

Then  the  full  devil-chorus  woke 
To  fill  the  saint  with  fear. 


He  knew  that  they  were  after  him 
To  hunt  him  till  he  fell ; 

He  turned  and  fled  into  the  dim, 
And  after  him  came  hell. 


Over  the  stony  wold  he  went, 
Through  thorns  and  over  quags ; 

The  bloodhounds  cried  upon  the  scent, 
They  ran  like  rutting  stags. 


And  when  the  saint  looked  round,  he  saw 

Red  eyes  intently  strained, 
The  bright  teeth  in  the  grinning  jaw, 

And  running  shapes  that  gained. 


Uphill,  downhill,  with  faihng  breath. 

He  ran  to  save  his  skin, 
Like  one  who  knocked  the  door  of  death, 

Yet  dared  not  enter  in. 


Then  water  gurgled  in  the  night. 

Dark  water  lay  in  front. 
The  saint  saw  bubbles  running  bright ; 

The  huntsman  cheered  his  hunt. 


[71] 


The  saint  leaped  far  into  the  stream 
And  struggled  to  the  shore. 

The  hunt  died  like  an  evil  dream, 
A  strange  land  lay  before. 


He  waded  to  a  glittering  land, 
With  brighter  light  than  ours, 

The  water  ran  on  silver  sand 
By  yellow  water-flowers. 

The  fishes  nosed  the  stream  to  rings 

As  petals  floated  by, 
The  apples  were  like  orbs  of  kings 

Against  a  glow  of  sky. 

On  cool  and  steady  stalks  of  green 

The  outland  flowers  grew, 
The  ghost-flower,  silver  like  a  queen, 

The  queen-flower  streakt  with  blue. 

The  king-flower,  crimson  on  his  stalk. 

With  frettings  in  his  crown. 
The  peace-flower  purple,  from  the  chalk, 

The  flower  that  loves  the  down. 


Lihes  like  thoughts,  roses  like  words 

In  the  sweet  brain  of  June ; 
The  bees  there,  like  the  stock-dove  birds. 

Breathed  all  the  air  with  croon. 


72 


Purple  and  golden  hung  the  plums. 

Like  slaves  bowed  down  with  gems 
The  peach-trees  were ;  sweet-scented  gums 

Oozed  clammy  from  their  stems. 


And  birds  of  every  land  were  there, 
Like  flowers  that  sang  and  flew ; 

All  beauty  that  makes  singing  fair 
That  sunny  garden  knew. 


For  all  together  sang  with  throats 
So  tuned,  that  the  intense 

Colour  and  odour  pearled  the  notes 
And  passed  into  the  sense. 


And  as  the  saint  drew  near,  he  heard 
The  birds  talk,  each  to  each, 

The  fire-bird  to  the  glory-bird ; 
He  understood  their  speech. 


One  said,  "The  saint  was  terrified 
Because  the  hunters  came." 

Another  said,  "The  bloodhounds  cried 
And  all  their  eyes  were  flame." 


Another  said,  "No  shame  to  him, 
For  mortal  men  are  blind, 

They  cannot  see  beyond  the  grim 
Into  the  peace  behind." 


73 


Another  sang,  ''They  cannot  know, 

Unless  we  give  the  clue, 
The  power  that  waits  in  them  below 

The  thing  they  are  to  do." 


Another  sang :  "  they  never  guess 
That  deep  within  them  stand 

Courage  and  peace  and  loveliness, 
Wisdom  and  skill  of  hand." 


Another  sang,  "Sing,  brothers;  come. 

Make  beauty  in  the  air ; 
The  saint  is  shamed  with  martyrdom 

Beyond  his  strength  to  bear. 

"  Sing,  brothers,  every  bird  that  flies  !" 

They  stretcht  their  throats  to  sing, 
With  the  sweetness  known  in  Paradise 
\    When  the  bells  of  heaven  ring. 


"Open  the  doors,  good  saint,"  they  cried, 

"  Pass  deeper  to  your  soul ; 
There  is  a  spirit  in  your  side 
\    That  hell  cannot  control. 


"  Open  the  doors  to  let  him  in. 
That  beauty  with  the  sword ; 

The  hounds  are  silly  shapes  of  sin. 
They  shrivel  at  a  word. 


74] 


"  Come,  saint !"  and  as  they  sang,  the  air 
Shone  with  the  shapes  of  flame, 

Bird  after  bright  bird  glittered  there, 
Crying  aloud  they  came. 


A  rush  of  brightness  and  dehght. 
White  as  the  snow  in  drift, 

The  fire-bird  and  the  glory-bright, 
Most  beautiful,  most  swift. 


Sweeping  aloft  to  show  the  way 
And  singing  as  they  flew. 

Many  and  gHttering  as  the  spray 
When  windy  seas  are  blue. 


So  cheerily  they  rushed,  so  strong 
Their  sweep  was  through  the  flowers, 

The  saint  was  swept  into  their  song 
And  gloried  in  their  powers. 


He  sang,  and  leaped  into  the  stream 
And  struggled  to  the  shore ; 

The  garden  faded  Hke  a  dream, 
A  darkness  lay  before. 


Darkness  with  glimmery  light  forlorn 
And  quavering  hounds  in  quest, 

A  huntsman  blowing  on  a  horn, 
And  lost  things  not  at  rest. 


75 


He  saw  the  huntsman's  hood  show  black 

Against  the  graying  east, 
He  heard  him  hollo  to  the  pack 

And  horn  them  to  the  feast. 


He  heard  the  bloodhounds  come  to  cry 

And  settle  to  the  scent, 
The  black  horse  made  the  hoof-casts  fly, 

The  sparks  flashed  up  the  bent. 


The  saint  stood  still  until  they  came 

Baying  to  ring  him  round ; 
A  horse  whose  flecking  foam  was  flame, 

And  hound  on  yelHng  hound. 


And  jaws  that  dripped  with  bitter  fire 
Snarled  at  the  saint  to  tear. 

Pilled  hell-hounds,  balder  than  the  geier, 
Leaped  round  him  everjrwhere. 


St.  Withiel  let  the  hell-hounds  rave. 

He  cried,  "Now,  in  this  place, 
Climb  down,  you  huntsman  of  the  grave, 

And  let  me  see  your  face. 


"  Climb  down,  you  huntsman  out  of  hell, 

And  show  me  what  you  are. 
The  judge  has  stricken  on  the  bell, 

Now  answer  at  the  bar." 

76] 


The  baying  of  the  hounds  fell  still, 

Their  jaws'  salt  fire  died. 
The  wind  of  morning  struck  in  chill 

Along  that  countryside. 


The  blackness  of  the  horse  was  shrunk, 
His  sides  seemed  ribbed  and  old. 

The  rider,  hooded  like  a  monk, 
Was  trembling  with  the  cold. 


The  rider  bowed  as  though  with  pain ; 

Then  clambered  down  and  stood, 
The  thin  thing  that  the  frightened  brain 

Had  fed  with  living  blood. 


"Show  me.     What  are  you?"  said  the  saint. 

A  hollow  murmur  spoke. 
"This,  Lord,"  it  said ;  a  hand  moved  faint 

And  drew  aside  the  cloak. 


A  Woman  Death  that  palsy  shook 
Stood  sick  and  dwindling  there ; 

Her  fingers  were  a  bony  crook 
And  blood  was  on  her  hair. 


"Stretch  out  your  hands  and  sign  the  Cross," 

Was  all  St.  Withiel  said. 
The  bloodhounds  moaned  upon  the  moss, 

The  Woman  Death  obeyed. 


77 


Whimpering  with  pain,  she  made  the  sign. 

"Go,  devil-hag,"  said  he, 
"Beyond  all  help  of  bread  and  wine, 

Beyond  all  land  and  sea. 


"  Into  the  ice,  into  the  snow, 
Where  Death  himself  is  stark. 

Out,  with  your  hounds  about  you,  go, 
And  perish  in  the  dark." 


They  dwindled  as  the  mist  that  fades 

At  coming  of  the  sun. 
Like  rags  of  stuff  that  fire  abrades, 

They  withered  and  were  done. 

The  cock,  that  scares  the  ghost  from  earth. 
Crowed  as  they  dwindled  down ; 

The  red  sun,  happy  in  his  girth, 
Strode  up  above  the  town. 

Sweetly  above  the  sunny  wold 

The  bells  of  churches  rang ; 
The  sheep-bells  clinked  within  the  fold, 

And  the  larks  went  up  and  sang. 

Sang  for  the  setting  free  of  men 

From  devils  that  destroyed. 
The  lark,  the  robin  and  the  wren, 

They  joyed  and  over-joyed. 

[78] 


The  chats,  that  harbour  in  the  whin, 
Their  Httle  sweet  throats  swelled, 

The  blackbird  and  the  thrush  joined  in, 
The  missel-thrush  excelled. 


Till  round  the  saint  the  singing  made 

A  beauty  in  the  air. 
An  ecstasy  that  cannot  fade 

But  is  forever  there. 


79 


CAP   ON   HEAD 
A  TALE  OF  THE  O'NEILL 


O'NEILL  took  ship,  O'Neill  set  sail, 
And  left  his  wife  ashore 
In  the  foursquare  castle  like  a  jail 
Between  the  Mull  and  the  Gore. 

Many  a  month  he  stayed  away, 

His  lady  sorrowed  long ; 
She  heard  the  tide  come  twice  a  day 

And  the  sea-lark  at  his  song ; 

She  watched  the  sun  go  down  in  the  west, 

And  another  day  begin, 
At  nights  she  made  her  mate  a  nest 

But  no  mate  came  therein. 


One  night,  a  red  light  burned  at  sea, 

A  ship  came  in  to  port, 
A  foot  stirred  and  the  horn  was  blown 

Within  the  outer  court. 

It  was  all  dark,  save  up  the  brae, 

The  dead  moon  wore  her  heel, 
The  watchman  called,  ''Who's  there  the  day?" 

A  voice  said,  "The  O'Neill." 

The  watchman  flung  the  great  gate  back, 

"Come  in,  Lord,  to  your  own." 
O'Neill  stood  huddled  up  in  black, 

Upon  the  threshold  stone. 

[83] 


White  as  a  riser  from  the  dead 

He  passed  the  lintel  post. 
*'  God  spare  us,  Lord,"  the  watchman  said, 

"I  thought  you  were  a  ghost. 


"I  never  heard  you  come  ashore, 
And,  look  your  ship  is  gone. 

Are  all  our  fellows  dead,  my  lord. 
That  you  should  come  alone?" 


O'Neill  stood  grinning  in  the  porch 

A  little  breathing  space ; 
The  redness  blowing  from  the  torch 

Put  colour  in  his  face. 


**IVe  left  my  ship  behind,"  he  said, 
"To  join  the  Scotch  king's  fleet. 

I've  left  my  men  behind,"  he  said, 
"To  haul  on  her  fore-sheet. 


"  I  have  come  home  all  alone,"  he  said, 
"  In  a  country  ship  from  sea. 

Let  my  lady  know  the  news,"  he  said, 
"Then  open  here  to  me." 


Then  lights  were  Ht  and  men  gave  hail 
And  welcomed  him  ashore ; 

The  wife  was  glad  within  that  jail 
Between  the  Mull  and  the  Gore. 


[84] 


O'Neill  went  swimming  in  the  sea 
And  hunting  up  the  glen ; 

No  one  could  swim  or  ride  as  he 
Of  all  the  sons  of  men. 


His  wife  went  happy  in  the  lane, 
And  singing  in  the  tower ; 

The  sweet  of  having  him  again 
Had  ended  all  the  sour. 


But  Kate,  an  old  crone  muttering  dark 

About  that  windy  place, 
Did  not  rejoice :  she  said,  "1  mark 

O'Neill  has  fal'n  from  grace. 


"  He  has  been  under  the  dark  star 

Since  when  he  went  away. 
Men  think  that  when  they  wander  far 

The  black  thing  becomes  grey. 


"  He  has  been  dipped  in  the  strange  vat 
And  dyed  with  the  strange  dye, 

And  then  the  black  thing,  what  is  that 
That  dogs  him,  going  by  ? 


"  A  dog  thing,  black,  goes  padding  past 

Forever  at  his  heel : 
God  help  us  all  to  peace  at  last, 

I  fear  for  the  O'Neill. 


85 


"  His  teeth  show  when  the  Host  does  come 

To  comfort  dying  men, 
And  in  the  chapel  he  is  dumb, 

He  never  says  Amen." 

She  would  not  speak  with  the  O'Neill, 

But  when  he  crossed  her  path 
She  prayed,  as  tremblers  do  that  feel 

The  devil  in  his  wrath. 


And  so  the  Time  went  by,  whose  hand 
Upheaves  the  lives  of  men, 

The  cuckoo  left  his  burning  land 
To  toll  along  the  glen. 

So  loud  the  thrushes  sang  that  spring, 

So  rich  the  hawthorn  was, 
The  air  was  like  a  living  thing 

Between  the  sky  and  the  grass. 


O'Neill's  wife  bore  a  little  son 
And  set  him  on  her  knee ; 

He  grew  apace  to  romp  and  run 
And  dabble  in  the  sea. 


But  one  thing  strange  about  the  child 
The  neighbours  noted  there : 

That,  even  if  the  winds  were  mild. 
His  head  was  never  bare. 

:86j 


His  father  made  him  wear  a  cap 
At  all  times,  night  and  day, 

Bound  round  his  forehead  with  a  strap 
To  keep  the  cold  away. 


And  up  and  down  the  little  lad 
Went  singing  at  his  game : 

Men  marvelled  at  the  grace  he  had 
To  make  the  wild  birds  tame. 


Men  marvelled  at  the  joy  he  took 
And  at  the  things  he  said, 

And  at  the  beauty  of  his  look, 
This  Httle  Cap  on  Head. 


And  when  the  nights  were  dark  between 

The  new  moon  and  the  old, 
And  fires  were  lit,  and  winds  blew  keen, 

And  old  wives'  tales  were  told. 


This  httle  son  would  scramble  near 
Beside  his  mother's  place. 

To  hsten  to  the  tale  and  peer 
With  firehght  on  his  face. 


O'Neill  would  gather  to  the  glow 
With  great  eyes  ghttering  fierce ; 

Old  Kate  would  shake  to  see  him  so 
And  cross  herself  from  curse. 


[87] 


It  fell  about  hay-harvest  time, 

When  the  Lammas  floods  were  out, 

A  ship  all  green  with  water-slime 
Stood  in  and  went  about, 

And  anchored  off  the  bight  of  sand. 
And  swam  there  like  a  seal, 

With  a  banner  of  the  bloody  hand, 
The  flag  of  the  O'Neill. 

Then  there  was  cheering  in  the  court 
And  hurrying  to  the  beach : 

"A  ship !"  they  cried,  "A  ship  in  port, 
Brought  up  in  Castle  Reach. 

"  It  is  our  ship.    They  are  our  men 
There,  coiling  up  the  sheet ; 

It  is  our  ship  come  home  agen 
From  out  the  Scotch  King's  fleet. 

"  And  who's  the  noble  in  the  boat 
Comes  rowing  through  the  sea  ? 

His  colours  are  the  O'Neill  coat, 
But  what  O'Neill  is  he?" 


O'Neill  was  in  his  turret  tower, 
With  writings  red  and  black ; 

Kate  crossed  herself  to  see  him  glower 
That  tide  the  ship  came  back. 

[88] 


He  looked  long  at  the  anchored  ship, 

And  at  the  coming  boat ; 
The  devil  writhelled  up  his  lip, 

And  snickered  in  his  throat. 


He  strode  the  room  and  bit  his  nails, 
He  bit  his  flesh  with  rage, 

As  maddened  felons  do  in  jails, 
And  rats  do  in  a  cage. 


He  looked  at  Kate,  who  crossed  her  breast, 

He  heard  them  cheer  below : 
He  said,  "The  wicked  cannot  rest. 

And  now  I  have  to  go." 


They  saw  him  hurry  up  the  green 

And  on  into  the  rain ; 
Beyond  the  brae  he  was  not  seen : 

He  was  not  seen  again. 


O'Neill's  wife  went  to  watch  the  boat 
Come  driving  to  the  sand  : 

The  noble  in  the  O'Neill  coat 
Stood  up  and  waved  his  hand. 


"That  is  O'NeiU !"  the  clansmen  cried, 

"Or  else  his  very  twin. 
How  came  he  to  the  ship?"  they  cried. 

"Just  now  he  was  within." 


"It  is  O'Neill,"  the  lady  said, 

"And  that's  his  ship  returned. 
A  woman's  life's  a  school,"  she  said, 

"Where  bitter  things  are  learned." 

O'Neill  called  to  her  through  his  tears, 

"The  bitter  days  are  past. 
I've  prayed  for  this  for  seven  years, 

Now  here  I  am  at  last." 

Then,  as  the  boat's  bows  cut  the  strand, 

Among  the  slipping  foam, 
He  sprang  to  take  his  lady's  hand. 

He  said,  "I  have  come  home." 

His  lady  fainted  like  the  dead, 

Beside  the  slipping  sea. 
"This  is  O'Neill,"  the  servants  said, 

"What  is  that  other  he?" 

"Master,"  they  said,  "where  have  you  been 

These  seven  years  and  more?" 
"I've  served  the  Scottish  King  and  Queen, 

Along  the  Scottish  shore." 

"Master,"  they  said,  "Another  came 

So  like  in  voice  and  face 
To  you,  we  thought  it  was  the  same. 

And  so  he  took  your  place. 

"  These  seven  years  he's  ruled  us  here, 

While  you  were  still  at  sea, 
And  that's  his  son  that's  coming  here : 

Look,  Master,  that  is  he." 

[90] 


O'Neill  took  off  the  wee  boy's  cap 
And  ruffled  through  his  hair ; 

He  said,  "A  young  tree  full  of  sap, 
A  good  shoot  growing  fair." 


He  turned  the  hair  for  men  to  see 
And  swallowed  down  his  tears ; 

He  said,  ''The  gods  be  good  to  me, 
The  boy  has  devil's  ears." 


He  took  the  young  child  by  the  heels 
And  broke  him,  head  and  breast : 

The  red  hand  ridded  the  O'Neills 
That  cuckoo  in  the  nest. 


O'Neill  flung  out  the  little  limbs 

To  drift  about  the  bay : 
"Watch,  fellows,  if  he  sinks  or  swims," 

Was  all  they  heard  him  say. 


He  said,  "The  wicked  cannot  rest 

And  now  I  have  to  go." 
He  set  his  ship's  head  north  and  west 

And  stood  into  the  flow. 


The  ship  went  shining  like  a  seal 

And  dimmed  into  the  rain  — 
And  no  man  saw  the  great  O'Neill, 

Nor  heard  of  him  again. 

[91 


SONNETS 


LIKE  bones  the  ruins  of  the  cities  stand, 
Like  skeletons  and  skulls  with  ribs  and  eyes 
4  Strewn  in  the  saltness  of  the  desert  sand 
Carved  with  the  unread  record  of  Kings'  lies. 

Once  they  were  strong  with  soldiers,  loud  with  voices, 
The  markets  clattered  as  the  carts  drove  through, 
Where  now  the  jackal  in  the  moon  rejoices 
And  the  still  asp  draws  death  along  the  dew. 

There  at  the  gates  the  market  men  paid  toll 
In  bronze  and  silver  pennies  long  worn  thin 
Wine  was  a  silver  penny  for  a  bowl 
Women  they  had  there,  and  the  moon  and  sin. 

And  looking  from  his  tower  the  watchman  saw 
Green  fields  for  miles,  the  roads,  the  great  king's  law. 


9SJ 


Now  they  are  gone  with  all  their  songs  and  sins, 
Women  and  men,  to  dust ;  their  copper  penny, 
Of  living,  spent,  among  these  dusty  inns ; 
The  ghttering  One  made  level  with  the  many. 

Their  speech  is  gone,  none  speaks  it,  none  can  read 
The  pictured  writing  of  their  conqueror's  march 
The  dropping  plaster  of  a  fading  screed 
Ceils  with  its  mildews  the  decaying  arch. 

The  fields  are  sand,  the  streets  are  fallen  stones 
Nothing  is  bought  or  sold  there,  nothing  spoken, 
The  sand  hides  all,  the  wind  that  blows  it  moans, 
Blowing  more  sand  until  the  phnth  is  broken. 

Day  in,  day  out,  no  other  utterance  falls ; 
Only  the  sand,  pit-pitting  on  the  walls. 


96  J 


None  knows  what  overthrew  that  city's  pride. 
Some  say,  the  spotted  pestilence  arose 
And  smote  them  to  the  marrow,  that  they  died 
Till  every  pulse  was  dusty ;   no  man  knows. 

Some  say,  that  foreign  Kings  with  all  their  hosts, 
Sieged  it  with  mine  and  tower  till  it  fell 
So  that  the  sword  shred  shrieking  flesh  from  ghosts 
Till  every  street  was  empty ;  who  can  tell  ? 

Some  think,  that  in  the  fields,  or  in  the  pit, 
Out  of  the  light,  in  filth,  among  the  rotten, 
Insects  like  sands  in  number,  swift  as  wit, 
Famined  the  city  dead ;  it  is  forgotten. 

Only  the  city's  bones  stand,  gaunt  in  air, 
Pocked  by  the  pitting  sandspecks  everywhere. 


97 


So  shall  we  be ;  so  will  our  cities  lie, 
Unknown  beneath  the  grasses  of  the  summer, 
Walls  without  roofs,  naves  open  to  the  sky, 
Doors  open  to  the  wind,  the  only  comer. 

And  men  will  grub  the  ruins,  eyes  will  peer, 
Fingers  will  grope  for  pennies,  brains  will  tire 
To  chronicle  the  skills  we  practised  here. 
While  still  we  breathed  the  wind  and  trod  the  mire. 

0,  Uke  the  ghost  at  dawn,  scared  by  the  cock, 
Let  us  make  haste,  to  let  the  spirit  dive 
Deep  in  self's  sea,  until  the  deeps  unlock 
The  depths  and  sunken  gold  of  being  aUve 

Till,  though  our  Many  pass,  a  Something  stands 
Aloft  through  Time  that  covers  all  with  sands. 


98 


THE   PASSING   STRANGE 


o 


UT  of  the  earth  to  rest  or  range 
Perpetual  in  perpetual  change 
The  unknown  passing  through  the  strange. 


Water  and  saltness  held  together 

To  tread  the  dust  and  stand  the  weather 

And  plough  the  field  and  stretch  the  tether. 

To  pass  the  wine  cup  and  be  witty, 
Water  the  sands  and  build  the  city- 
Slaughter  like  devils  and  have  pity, 

Be  red  with  rage  and  pale  with  lust, 

Make  beauty  come,  make  peace,  make  trust, 

Water  and  saltness  mixed  with  dust ; 

Drive  over  earth,  swim  under  sea, 

Fly  in  the  eagle's  secrecy, 

Guess  where  the  hidden  comets  be ; 

Know  all  the  deathy  seeds  that  still 
Queen  Helen's  beauty,  Caesar's  will. 
And  slay  them  even  as  they  kill. 

Fashion  an  altar  for  a  rood, 

DefiJe  a  continent  with  blood. 

And  watch  a  brother  starve  for  food ; 

Love  like  a  madman,  shaking,  blind 
Till  self  is  burnt  into  a  kind 
Possession  of  another  mind ; 

[lOl] 


Brood  upon  beauty  till  the  grace 
Of  beauty  with  the  holy  face 
Brings  peace  into  the  bitter  place ; 

Probe  in  the  lifeless  granites,  scan 
The  stars  for  hope,  for  guide,  for  plan ; 
Live  as  a  woman  or  a  man ; 

Fasten  to  lover  or  to  friend 
Until  the  heart  break  at  the  end 
The  break  of  death  that  cannot  mend 

Then  to  he  useless,  helpless,  still 
Down  in  the  earth,  in  dark,  to  fill 
The  roots  of  grass  or  daffodil. 

Down  in  the  earth,  in  dark,  alone, 

A  mockery  of  the  ghost  in  bone. 

The  strangeness,  passing  the  unknown. 

Time  will  go  by,  that  outlasts  clocks. 
Dawn  in  the  thorps  will  rouse  the  cocks 
Sunset  be  glory  on  the  rocks 

But  it,  the  thing,  will  never  heed 
Even  the  rootling  from  the  seed 
Thrusting  to  suck  it  for  its  need. 

Since  moons  decay  and  suns  decline 
How  else  should  end  this  life  of  mine  ? 
Water  and  saltness  are  not  wine. 


[102] 


But  in  the  darkest  hour  of  night 
When  even  the  foxes  peer  for  sight 
The  byre-cock  crows ;  he  feels  the  light. 

So,  in  this  water  mixed  with  dust, 
The  byre-cock  spirit  crows  from  trust 
That  death  will  change  because  it  must, 

For  all  things  change,  the  darkness  changes, 
The  wandering  spirits  change  their  ranges, 
The  corn  is  gathered  to  the  granges. 

The  corn  is  sown  again,  it  grows ; 
The  stars  burn  out,  the  darkness  goes. 
The  rhythms  change,  they  do  not  close. 

They  change,  and  we,  who  pass  like  foam, 
Like  dust  blown  through  the  streets  of  Rome, 
Change  ever,  too ;  we  have  no  home, 

Only  a  beauty,  only  a  power, 

Sad  in  the  fruit,  bright  in  the  flower, 

Endlessly  erring  for  its  hour 

But  gathering,  as  we  stray,  a  sense 
Of  Life,  so  lovely  and  intense. 
It  lingers  when  we  wander  hence. 

That  those  who  follow  feel  behind 
Their  backs,  when  all  before  is  bUnd, 
Our  joy,  a  rampart  to  the  mind. 

[103; 


ANIMULA 


THIS  is  the  place,  this  house  beside  the  sea, 
This  was  the  setting  where  they  played  their  parts 
Two  men,  who  knew  them  all,  have  talked  to  me. 
Beauty  she  had,  and  all  had  passionate  hearts. 

I  write  this  in  the  window  where  she  sat 
Two  fields,  all  green  with  summer,  lie  below 
Then  the  grey  sea,  at  thought,  cloud-coloured,  flat, 
Wind-dappled  from  the  glen,  the  tide  at  flow. 

Her  portrait  and  her  husband's  hang  together 
One  on  each  side  the  fire ;  it  is  close  : 
The  tree-tops  toss ;  it  is  a  change  of  weather ; 
They  were  most  lovely  and  unhappy,  those 

That  married  pair  and  he  who  loved  too  well ; 
This  was  the  door  by  which  they  entered  hell. 


This,  is  a  drawing  of  her  as  a  child, 
This,  is  she  wed ;  the  faces  are  the  same, 
Only,  the  beauty  of  the  babe  is  wild ; 
The  woman's  beauty  has  been  broken  tame. 

Witty,  bright,  gentle,  earnest,  with  great  eyes, 
Dark  hair  in  heaps,  pure  colour,  lips  that  smile ; 
Beauty  that  is  more  wisdom  than  the  wise 
lived  in  this  woman  for  a  little  while. 

Dressed  in  that  beauty  that  our  mothers  wore, 
(So  touching  now),  she  looks  out  of  the  frame 
With  stag-like  eyes,  that  wept  till  they  were  sore 
Many's  the  time,  till  she  was  broken  tame. 

[107 


Witty,  bright,  gentle,  earnest,  even  so : 
Destiny  calls  and  spirits  come  and  go. 


This,  is  her  husband  in  his  youth ;  and  this 
Is  he  in  manhood ;   this,  is  he  in  age : 
There  is  a  devil  in  those  eyes  of  his, 
A  glittering  devil,  restless  in  his  cage. 

A  grand  man,  with  a  beauty  and  a  pride 
A  manner  and  a  power  and  a  fire 
With  beaks  of  vultures  eating  at  his  side 
The  great  brain  mad  with  unfulfilled  desire. 

"With  grand  ideas,"  they  say;   tall,  wicked,  proud, 

Cold,  cruel,  bitter,  clever,  dainty,  skilled; 

Splendid  to  see,  a  head  above  the  crowd, 

Splendid  with  every  strength,  yet  unfulfilled. 

Cutting  himself  (and  all  those  near)  with  hate 

From  that  sharp  mind  which  should  have  shaped  a  state. 

And  many  years  ago  I  saw  the  third 
Bowed  in  old  age  and  mad  with  misery 
Mad  with  the  bright  eyes  of  the  eagle  bird ; 
Burning  his  heart  at  fires  of  memory. 

He  stood  behind  a  chair  and  bent  and  muttered 
Grand  still,  grey,  sunburnt,  bright  with  mad  eyes  brown, 
Burning,  though  dying,  like  a  torch  that  guttered 
That  once  had  lit  Queen  Helen  through  the  town. 

fio81 


I  only  saw  him  once  :  I  saw  him  go 

Leaning  uphill  his  body  to  the  rain 

Too  good  a  man  for  life  to  punish  so 

Theirs  were  the  pride  and  passion,  his  the  pain. 

His  old  coat  flapped :  the  little  children  turned 
To  see  him  pass,  that  passionate  age  that  burned. 


"I  knew  them  well,  all  three,"  the  old  man  said ; 
"He  was  an  unused  force  and  she  a  child. 
She  caught  him  with  her  beauty,  being  a  maid. 
The  thought  that  she  had  trapped  him  drove  him  wild. 

He  would  not  work  with  others,  could  not  rest, 
And  nothing  here  could  use  him  or  engage  him 
Yet  here  he  stayed  with  devils  in  his  breast 
To  blast  the  woman  who  had  dared  to  cage  him. 

Then,  when  the  scholar  came,  it  made  the  three, 
She  turned  to  him  and  he,  he  turned  to  her. 
They  both  were  saints  :  elopement  could  not  be : 
So  here  they  stayed,  and  passion  pUed  the  spur. 

Then  the  men  fought,  and  later  she  was  found 
In  that  green  pool  beyond  the  headland,  drowned. 


They  carried  her  drowned  body  up  the  grass 
Here  to  the  house,  they  laid  it  on  the  bed 
(This  very  bed,  where  I  have  slept,  it  was) 
The  scholar  begged  to  see  her,  being  dead. 

[109 


The  husband  walked  downstairs  to  see  him  there 
Begging  to  see  her  as  one  asks  an  alms 
He  spat  at  him  and  cut  his  cheek-bone  bare 
"There's  pay,"  he  said,  "my  poet,  for  your  psalms." 


And  then  they  fought  together  at  the  door 
Biting  each  other,  like  two  dogs,  while  she 
Lay  dead,  poor  woman,  dripping  on  the  floor 
Out  of  her  hair  the  death-drops  of  the  sea. 
Later,  they  fought  whenever  they  might  meet 
In  church,  or  in  the  fields,  or  in  the  street." 


Up,  on  the  hill,  another  aged  man 
Remembered  them.     He  said,  "they  were  afraid. 
They  feared  to  end  the  passions  they  began. 
They  held  the  cards  and  yet  they  never  played. 


He  should  have  broken  from  her  at  all  cost. 
She  should  have  loved  her  lover  and  gone  free. 
They  all  held  winning  cards  and  yet  they  lost 
So  two  were  wrecked  and  one  drowned  in  the  sea. 


Some  harshness  or  some  law,  or  else  some  fear 
Stifled  their  souls  :   God  help  us,  when  we  know 
Certainly,  certain  things,  the  way  is  clear. 
And  yet,  they  paid,  and  one  respects  them,  so. 


Perhaps  they  were  too  fine.     I  know  not,  I. 
Men  must  have  mercy,  being  ripe  to  die." 

[no] 


So  this  old  house  of  mourning  was  the  stage 
(This  house  and  those  green  fields)  for  all  that  woe. 
There  are  her  books,  her  writing  on  the  page, 
In  those  choked  beds  she  made  the  flowers  grow. 

Most  desolate  it  is,  the  rain  is  pouring 
The  trees  all  toss  and  drip  and  scatter  evil, 
The  floods  are  out,  the  waterfall  is  roaring, 
The  bar  is  mad  with  many  a  leaping  devil. 

And  in  this  house  the  wind  goes  whining  wild 
The  door  blows  open,  till  I  think  to  see 
That  delicate  sweet  woman  Uke  a  child 
Standing  with  great  dark  stag's  eyes  watching  me. 

Watching  as  though  her  sorrow  might  make  plain 
(Had  I  but  wit)  the  meaning  of  such  pain. 


I  wonder  if  she  sang  in  this  old  room. 
Ah,  never ;  no ;   they  tell  me  that  she  stood 
For  hours  together  staring  into  gloom 
Out  of  the  prison  bars  of  flesh  and  blood. 

So,  when  the  ninth  wave  drowned  her,  haply  she 
Wakened,  with  merging  senses,  till  she  blent 
Into  the  joy  and  colour  of  the  sea 
One  with  the  purpose  of  the  element. 

And  there,  perhaps,  she  cannot  feel  the  woe 
Passed  in  this  rotting  house,  but  runs  like  light 
Over  the  billows  where  the  clippers  go, 
One  with  the  blue  sea's  pureness  of  delight. 

[ml 


Laughing,  perhaps,  at  that  old  woe  of  hers 
Chained  in  the  cage  with  fellow  prisoners. 


He  died  in  that  lone  cottage  near  the  sea. 

In  the  grey  morning  when  the  tide  was  turning, 

The  wards  of  Life  sHpt  back  and  set  him  free 

From  cares  of  meat  and  dress,  from  joys  and  yearning. 

Then,  like  an  old  man  gathering  strength,  he  strayed 
Over  the  beach,  and  strength  came  into  him 
Beauty  that  never  threatened  nor  betrayed 
Made  bright  the  eyes  that  sorrow  had  made  dim 

So  that  upon  that  stretch  of  barren  sand 
He  knew  his  dreams ;  he  saw  her  beauty  run 
With  Sorrowful  Beauty,  laughing,  hand  in  hand, 
He  heard  the  trumpets  blow  in  Avalon. 

He  saw  the  golden  statue  stretching  down 
The  wreath,  for  him,  of  roses,  in  a  crown. 


They  say  that  as  her  husband  lay  a-dying 
He  clamoured  for  a  chain  to  beat  the  hound. 
They  say  that  all  the  garden  rang  with  crying 
That  came  out  of  the  air,  out  of  the  ground, 

Out  of  the  waste  that  was  his  soul,  may  be. 
Out  of  the  running  wolf-hound  of  his  soul. 
That  had  been  kennelled  in  and  now  broke  free 
Out  to  the  moors  where  stags  go,  past  control. 

[II2] 


All  through  his  life  his  will  had  kennelled  him 
Now  he  was  free,  and  with  a  hackling  fell 
He  snarled  out  of  the  body  to  the  dim 
To  run  the  spirits  with  the  hounds  of  hell. 

To  run  forever  at  the  quarry  gone, 
The  uncaught  thing  a  little  further  on. 


So,  one  by  one.  Time  took  them  to  his  keeping 
Those  broken  lanterns  that  had  held  his  fire, 
Dust  went  to  dust  and  flesh  had  time  for  sleeping, 
And  soul,  the  stag,  escaped  the  hound  desire. 

And  now,  perhaps,  the  memory  of  their  hate 
Has  passed  from  them  and  they  are  friends  again 
Laughing  at  all  the  troubles  of  this  state 
Where  men  and  women  work  each  other  pain. 

And  in  that  wind  that  runs  along  the  glen 
Beating  at  cottage  doors,  they  may  go  by, 
Exulting  now,  and  helping  sorrowing  men 
To  do  some  little  good  before  they  die. 

For  from  these  ploughed-up  souls  the  spirit  brings 
Harvest  at  last,  and  sweet  from  bitter  things. 


[113] 


THE  LEMMINGS 


ONCE  in  a  hundred  years  the  Lemmings  come 
Westward,  in  search  of  food,  over  the  snow, 
Westward,  until  the  salt  sea  drowns  them  dumb, 
Westward,  till  all  are  drowned,  those  Lemmings  go. 

Once,  it  is  thought,  there  was  a  westward  land, 

(Now  drowned)  where  there  was  food  for  those  starved 

things, 
And  memory  of  the  place  has  burnt  its  brand 
In  the  Uttle  brains  of  all  the  Lemming  Kings. 

Perhaps,  long  since,  there  was  a  land  beyond 
Westward  from  death,  some  city,  some  calm  place, 
Where  one  could  taste  God's  quiet  and  be  fond 
With  the  Uttle  beauty  of  a  human  face ; 

But  now  the  land  is  drowned,  yet  still  we  press 
Westward,  in  search,  to  death,  to  nothingness. 


[117] 


FORGET 


F 


ORGET  all  these,  the  barren  fool  in  power, 
The  madman  in  command,  the  jealous  O, 
The  bitter  world  biting  its  bitter  hour, 
The  cruel  now,  the  happy  long  ago. 


Forget  all  these,  for,  though  they  truly  hurt, 
Even  to  the  soul,  they  are  not  lasting  things, 
Men  are  no  gods ;  we  tread  the  city  dirt. 
But  in  our  souls  we  can  be  queens  and  kings. 

And  I,  O  Beauty,  O  divine  white  wonder, 
On  whom  my  dull  eyes,  bhnd  to  all  else,  peer, 
Have  you  for  peace,  that  not  the  whole  war's  thunder 
Nor  the  world's  wreck,  can  threat  or  take  from  here. 

So  you  remain,  though  all  man's  passionate  seas 
Roar  their  blind  tides,  I  can  forget  all  these. 


[  121 


ON   GROWING  OLD 


B 


E  with  me  Beauty  for  the  fire  is  dying, 
My  dog  and  I  are  old,  too  old  for  roving, 
Man,  whose  young  passion  sets  the  spindrift  flying 
Is  soon  too  lame  to  march,  too  cold  for  loving. 


I  take  the  book  and  gather  to  the  fire. 
Turning  old  yellow  leaves ;  minute  by  minute, 
The  clock  ticks  to  my  heart ;    a  withered  wire 
Moves  a  thin  ghost  of  music  in  the  spinet. 

I  cannot  sail  your  seas,  I  cannot  wander, 

Your  cornland,  nor  your  hill-land  nor  your  valleys, 

Ever  again,  nor  share  the  battle  yonder 

Where  the  young  knight  the  broken  squadron  rallies. 

Only  stay  quiet  while  my  mind  remembers 
The  beauty  of  fire  from  the  beauty  of  embers. 

Beauty,  have  pity,  for  the  strong  have  power 
The  rich  their  wealth,  the  beautiful  their  grace 
Summer  of  man  its  sunlight  and  its  flower 
Spring  time  of  man  all  April  in  a  face. 

Only,  as  in  the  jostling  in  the  Strand, 
Where  the  mob  thrusts  or  loiters  or  is  loud 
The  beggar  with  the  saucer  in  his  hand 
Asks  only  a  penny  from  the  passing  crowd, 

So,  from  this  glittering  world  with  all  its  fashion 
Its  fire  and  play  of  men,  its  stir,  its  march. 
Let  me  have  wisdom,  Beauty,  wisdom  and  passion, 
Bread  to  the  soul,  rain  where  the  summers  parch. 

Give  me  but  these,  and  though  the  darkness  close 
Even  the  night  will  blossom  as  the  rose. 

[125; 


LYRIC 


GIVE  me  a  light  that  I  may  see  her, 
Give  me  a  grace  that  I  may  be  her, 
Give  me  a  clue  that  I  may  find  her, 
Whose  beauty  shews  the  brain  behind  her. 
Stars  and  women  and  running  rivers 
And  sunny  water  where  a  shadow  shivers, 
And  the  little  brooks  that  lift  the  grasses 
And  April  flowers  are  where  she  passes. 
And  all  things  good  and  all  things  kind 
Are  glimmerings  coming  from  her  mind 
And  in  the  may  a  blackbird  sings 
Against  her  very  hearte  springs. 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America. 


[129] 


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